The Secret Room
by yoursupervillain
Summary: my first fanfic, johnlock, parentlock. Some fluff, some angst, some references to drug use and some slight torture. Sherlock and John try to raise the baby after Mary dies. Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand man is trying to take over the criminal web. Moriarty has surprises for John, Sherlock and Moran. [ There's Alternate ending too] (people die- in both versions)
1. Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

"There's a lot of bleeding!" the obstetrician called to her nurse.

Marry looked abnormally pale and near fainting as she attempted to continue pushing through the childbirth. John had noticed her grip on his hand had been slacking, but had dismissed it in the thought that perhaps after all the emotional pain his wife had caused him that she couldn't bear to cause him further pain, and that she had finally changed with the ushering in of their new baby daughter; however, with the obstetrician's announcement he grew very concerned and releasing his wife's hand attempted to assist his fellow doctor.

"Get him out of here." Was all that the doctor responded with, and before John knew what was happening he had already been guided outside into the hallway. John tried to return to the room, but he was barred from it by a rather large nurse.

"Please," John tried to control the frustration in his voice, "please let me in. That's my wife and child in there. Please, let me in." The nurse just shook his head and John scowled as he turned to see his best friend sitting in the chair across the hall from the door with an expression of deep concern.

"She's hemorrhaging, isn't she?" Sherlock inquired, but already knew the answer as he continued and his face set to one devoid of emotion and he leaned back, "She will be fine, as you are well aware, doctors are well trained for this sort of thing."

"It would still be nice if they'd let me stay in the room." John protested as he kicked at an imaginary stone on the ground then stood still near the seats, still gazing intently at the closed door.

"I believe from their perspective, you are the husband, and not a fellow doctor." Sherlock spoke in the most matter of fact way as he peaked his fingers in a pyramid and pressed them to his lips. John gazed at Sherlock for a moment in utter befuddlement. Then giving a curt nod he sat down one seat away from his best friend.

John wanted to move into the seat closer to his friend, but thought better of it. While having Sherlock there was good support, he wasn't exactly known to be the warmest of people and frankly, John was concerned they might be misconstrued as a couple by the passers-by. He looked down at his hands in his lap, attempting not to laugh but barely restraining the smile growing on his lips.

Sherlock glanced over at his friend, confusion lurking behind his mask of indifference. He looked away for a moment as though thinking, returning his gaze to his best friend and soon to be father he squinted a little and spoke in hushed tones, "John do you really think this is the most appropriate time to be smiling? What are you amused at anyway?"

John shook his head, "Nothing Sherlock, I promise you it's nothing."

Sherlock leaned closer over the arm rests of the hospital chairs and spoke quieter, "No… it's not nothing, tell me."

"Sherlock, I would have thought by now you would be able to read my mind." John teased.

Sherlock considered this for a moment, then nodded, "You looked at the seat next to me, then chose to go for the one after that allowing there to be a seat separating us. Normally you're not too concerned about close proximity to me, it's only when there are people observing us that you seem to mind. You dislike the insinuations that we are a romantic pairing. You glanced at the seat again once you were seated, so you weren't quite satisfied with your decision, makes sense, your wife is in there giving birth to your daughter and you've just been kicked out of the room. You're concerned, you're worried. Many people feel the need for close physical proximity to their friends as a form of comfort in stressful situations. But you didn't move, suggesting that despite wanting the comfort of a close friend that you feel more inclined to stay in your current seat, thus reducing the likelihood of being mistaken for a gay couple with me. Your wife is currently in there having a baby, you are wearing a ring, I am not so I don't see why you'd be concerned about being interpreted as a gay couple; all though some gay couples have been known to adopt and witness the birth of their child, again the wedding ring on your hand and the absence of one on mine would suggest otherwise. I still don't know why you're so obsessed with what people say anyway. You're having a baby girl with the woman you chose. But I still don't understand what's so entertaining. I can follow your thought process, but I get lost as to how you found your destination of amusement." Sherlock seemed genuinely bothered by the fact that he could not understand the smile playing at John's lips.

John smiled and shook his head, "it's just after all we've been through we still get mistaken for a couple, Sherlock, that's why I'm so amused- as you put it."

"Why shouldn't we be mistaken as a couple? We've been through more than most people have been through with their romantic partner, our bond is very strong and it's not surprising that people should misinterpret it." Sherlock commented in an off handed manner, as he slowly stilled and his face grew even more unreadable as his gaze fixed upon the door of the hospital room that Mary was currently occupying. John furrowed his brow, unable to respond as he returned his attention to the room where his wife and soon to be new born baby were currently inhabiting.

The two men sat in silence for a considerable while.

There was far too little sound coming from the room.

John began to panic, he stood and began to pace the floor in front of that ominous door. "It hasn't been that long." John began to justify to himself, trying to verbalize his hopes to help calm him. Sherlock looked at him as though he were a lost puppy, but nodded (seemingly knowing what he was doing) then agreed with him. "I mean, these things take time, I'm sure they're fine in there."

"Yes, John, the doctors here are very well qualified, they have the best record of any of the doctors I interviewed for this position." After a moment Sherlock added, "I was very thorough."

John nodded, "exactly, exactly. They know what they're doing. Everything will be fine."

Suddenly the room was alive with the sound of rushed speaking, almost shouting. Everything seemed urgent and John had to fight the urge to rush into the room and demand to know what was happening. As if reading his mind, Sherlock stood and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"What's going on in there? What are they saying?"

A long pause from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, can you hear what they're saying? Do you know what's happening?"

Sherlock remained silent.

"Please, talk to me, answer me." John's voice was cracking as he stood military straight and clenched his fists.

"John…" Sherlock seemed very hesitant.

"Sherlock?"

More silence filled the air, from within the room and from without.

"Please tell me what you know, you always know. Just treat me like another client. Please, because I can't take this right now."

"I believe…" Sherlock couldn't make eye contact with John, not at this moment. John stood, military straight, clenching his fists, nearly drowning in his own apprehension. "I'm sorry John, I can't say. Just…" Sherlock closed his eyes and turned slightly from him, "just a few more moments and I'm sure the doctor will be right out to tell us what's happened."

John gave a curt nod.

It seemed as though eons had passed, but in reality it was only fifteen minutes. Slowly the door opened and the doctor, a red headed woman with the most pained expression stepped out of the room holding her arms awkwardly at her sides, like they had turned to rubber. "Mr. Watson?"

"Doctor Watson" John nodded as he stood from the seat he had retaken a few moments before, he was ghostly white and Sherlock's eyes followed him as he stood, fixed on his face. Was that sympathy floating upon his usual mask of indifference? "How are they?" John managed to voice, all though the look on the doctor's face made it an easy guess.

"I'm so sorry. We did everything we could for your wife. She, she just lost too much blood and we couldn't stop it in time." The doctor spoke in a slightly hoarse voice, raw from directing orders at the other occupants of the room, yet somehow still soothing and full of genuine empathy. John's breathing was coming in ragged breaths from his nostrils as he continued to clench and unclench his fists, standing in his emotional reset posture, military straight.

"And the baby?" He managed to gasp out.

"The baby is… We believe she will be fine, she was cut off of oxygen for a while before we could get her out, but she should be fine. We want to keep her overnight for observation, and depending on how things go, you should be able to take her home in the morning." She offered him a consoling smile which he graciously accepted with a nod. "Do you want to come in and look at her? She's healthy enough that you can hold her, but remember you can't take her home just yet." John nodded enthusiastically; still dripping with concern, shock and a little bit of nausea; he followed the doctor into the next room where they handed him a little baby girl.

Tears started to blur his vision, he had just lost his wife, but had gained this beautiful baby girl. "I'm so sorry," he choked out to the infant as the doctors left him to have a moment alone with his new daughter, "I'm so sorry that you lost your mother so soon. I did love her, I promise you. We had our difficulties- much like any married couple," a dry laugh, "well, maybe not just like **any** married couple, but we had difficulties. But I genuinely cared for her. And I know she would have adored you. I promise you that I'll do my best to make her proud in raising you." He leaned close the baby and whispered, "All though, with any luck you won't grow up to be a trained assassin like your mother." The baby smiled up at him and the sound of his voice and gently slapped his face. A proud grin with misery still edging its way around his tear soaked eyes John choked out "Sherlock!" the door opened slightly and Sherlock peered through the small opening, "Sherlock come in here, come look at her!" Sherlock crossed the room to John in a few long, quick elegant strides. "Sherlock look at how beautiful she is."

Sherlock gazed down at the little baby and his facial expression softened considerably. He even managed to refrain from muttering something about beauty being a social construct and instead offered, "She has your eyes." His voice was that of one in utter awe. He was in awe of this little baby girl who was looking up at him now. John gazed into Sherlock's eyes as Sherlock stared at the baby. John smiled, a new, proud father trying to shove all self-doubt out of his mind in the hopes that he could handle a baby without his wife. He looked at Sherlock intently. Sherlock still gazing at the baby, his face mere inches away from the infant's face. She reached up and gently slapped his face with the same hand that had just hit her father's.

John laughed again, a warm but sad sound, "she did that to me just before you walked in."

A dark laugh escaped Sherlock's lips, "let's hope she doesn't make a habit of hitting people or we may end up investigating her."

John shrugged, "like mother like daughter, I suppose." Sherlock looked up at him from the baby and straightened up. "Besides, I was hoping that you would help me out… with… with her… you know, at least just until I get… the hang of it."

They stared at each other for a while, the baby contently resting in John's arms.

"You want me to… help with the baby?"

"Yes. Yes, if it's not too much trouble?"

"I… yes, John. Of course I will help you. Whatever you need. Just let me know." Sherlock turned on his heel and began walking out of the room.

"Can I move back into Baker Street?" John called after him.

"Of course, you're always welcome at Baker Street." He responded in the doorway with a sad hunch to his posture and then was out of the room.

The doctor and nurses then returned to the room and took the baby from John and told him that he could stay the night if he so desired. Of course he wanted to; his baby was here which meant that he had to be there. It doesn't matter what he has to do, he would be there for his daughter. No matter what.

An hour later John had settled into the chair the nurse had provided for him and he sat watching his daughter.

"What's her name?" the deep voice spoke in low hushed tones while managing to carry across the room and interrupt the thoughts of a very pensive new father.

"Wha- oh, I, I haven't decided yet. Mary and I never… never really talked about it. You know… these past few months were quite… strained. I… I was thinking of maybe naming her after… well, after Mary… but… I don't know… it just doesn't seem right…" John spoke with a furrowed brow as he thought, allowing his line of sight to focus on his new born girl. Sherlock listened quietly from the door way, facing the direction of father and daughter, growing momentarily uncomfortable at the mention of naming the baby after Mary, but being relived as John brushed that thought away. Sherlock's mask of determined indifference set firmly in place as his friend continued to speak, "… I just don't think I'd be comfortable naming her after Mary." John momentarily glanced back at his friend who stood in the dull light of the hallway, "I don't want to pretend that Mary never happened. I got my daughter out of it… but… Mary lied to me… She shot you… I can't be reminded of that every time I say my daughter's name… it would be unfair to her, it would be unfair to you… hell, it'd even be unfair to Mary…" John allowed himself to trail off momentarily, "She'll grow up only knowing the best of her mom. I'll tell her all the little things that made me fall in love with her." John's voice cracked as he spoke the last words and before he realized it Sherlock was crouching next to him, hand placed on his shoulder and a painful sympathy on his face.

John nodded his thanks. As much as it still hurt, he really did love his wife.

Sherlock looked at the sleeping baby and seemed to be considering something for a few moments. John watched him while he thought. When Sherlock finally spoke he seemed uncertain, "… What… what about Isabella?" he seemed to regret his decision and was a moment away from backtracking his suggestion, as naming a child was up to the parents, not the sociopathic friend who solves crimes to prevent relapsing into his drug addiction.

But before he could, John said as he looked down upon the new born child, "Isabella. Hm. I quite like that. Now I just have to think of a middle name." John laughed, well, more of an exhale really, but it was enough to make Sherlock smile at his suggestion going over well. "So… so tomorrow I should be able to take Isabella home with me, and I was wondering if I could just take her straight over to Baker Street. I still have some things left in my room from… well from those few months… and then in between shifts I could start packing my things and then hire some movers and be moved back in by the end of the month? Does that work for you?"

Sherlock and John stared at each other for quite a few moments, an entire dialogue went unspoken, and then with one last glance Sherlock bowed his head in assent then departed the room and called back, "I'll expect a text preceding your arrival."

John simply nodded as he returned his gaze to his sleeping daughter, Isabella.


	2. Chapter 2: Questions

Disclaimer: again, just reminding you (that which you already know..) I own nothing

Chapter 2, Questions

Sherlock opened the downstairs door before John had a chance to, revealing the midday sun, glaring up at it as though it had personally offended him Sherlock then turned to his friend holding the carrier seat that contained his new born baby girl. "Good morning."

"More like afternoon." John replied with an edge of humor as he entered the building, "do you even know what time it is, Sherlock?"

"Irrelevant." Sherlock stated, waving the thought away as he bounded up the stairs, his blue dressing gown flapping behind him.

John shook his head in amusement as he slowly trekked up the stairs to where Sherlock stood waiting.

"Get much sleep?"

A smile, "Shouldn't you just be able to tell?"

"Of course."

"Well?"

"You got no sleep."

"Then I don't understand why you asked."

Hesitation, "I… its polite?"

"Is that a question?" John was really getting amused by this. Through all of this, of course Sherlock would be the only person who could soften the sharp sting from the previous night's loss. John shook his head in amusement at the apparent discomfort his friend displayed; a very subtle stiffness had taken control of the "heartless" man standing in front of him, and had he not known him as well as he did, he might not have even noticed. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to say something then narrowed his eyes as he shut his mouth and began to attempt to process the information. But he came to no solid conclusion, more information was necessary, "… for what?"

John heaved a great, tired sigh, "letting me stay."

"Well what else would I have done? I'm your best friend, John. I made a vow to you, to Mary, and to your baby. No matter what you need, I'll be here for you." Sherlock awkwardly smoothed over the front of his robe as he spoke, and looked up at his friend almost in emphasis of his intentions to be there, no matter what.

John nodded, "all the same." They stood there, in the room which aside from their breathing and the baby's occasional mutterings of single syllable gibberish (buh, ga etc.), just staring at each other. An entire conversation through not quite a minute of eye contact. John broke the eye contact as he set the baby carrier seat on the table and stooped to check that she was still tucked in properly, "I have two weeks off work, I can probably get the packing done in that time."

Sherlock nodded.

John glanced back up at his friend, he wanted to look into Sherlock's eyes forever. It felt like there were infinite possibilities in those eyes, like they contained an entire universe. The more John looked the more difficult it was to look away, a universe, mostly of sadness and of pain, but also filled with love. John had to look away again, look away from those eyes and the infinite possibilities that weren't his to explore. He had chosen Mary, and just because she was gone doesn't mean that changed. He had chosen her, and they both would always remember that fact.

* * *

The last two weeks had been moderately uneventful. John had spent most of his time packing things away and dealing with matters of the will, the funeral, his old place, and caring for the baby. Sherlock had helped a great deal with everything except for the baby. John's leave from work was over and he was going to have to attend work in the morning.

Sherlock sat in his chair plucking gently at his violin as John made tea in the kitchen, the baby monitor sitting in his pocket so he would be able to hear Isabella over the violin should she need him and should Sherlock get loud.

John entered the living area and set a cup of tea down near Sherlock then relaxed into the couch with his own cup. Sherlock didn't acknowledge its presence as he simply continued plucking his violin.

John sighed, Sherlock finally looked up at him with a pensive expression. They sat silently looking at each other for a while before John finally broke the silence, "I have to go to work tomorrow."

"I'm aware." Sherlock could not understand why John always felt it necessary to go over the obvious.

"And I'm going to have to leave Isabella here."

Sherlock stared at John.

"Sherlock, I need you to watch her for me, make sure she's safe, make sure she sleeps and eats. I can't afford a babysitter and you're really the only person I've got."

Sherlock continued to stare.

"Sherlock."

"What about Harry?"

"She's back to drinking."

"Sorry." Hesitantly, "Molly?"

John laughed sardonically, "Sherlock, while she's lovely, she has work too, and I can't just leave my baby with her on such short notice."

Sherlock stared at the table, an inaudible utterance of "lovely" escaping his lips, one that John didn't notice.

"Sherlock, please, I need to know that you'll watch Isabella while I'm at work."

Sherlock continued to stare at the table.

John got up, standing military straight, clenching his fists and scorned his friend before going to walk out of the room, "what happened to 'whatever you need'?"

"I'm scared."

John back tracked so he could look at his sitting friend's facial expression. "What?"

"John, I don't know how to care for a baby, I can hardly care for myself. I'm scared."

The look of complete and utter sincerity on Sherlock's face washed any anger away from John in an instant and he smiled a smile that one would smile at a puppy that just sneezed from sniffing a flower with too much zealous. "Would it help if I wrote down what to do?"

Sherlock peaked his fingers beneath his chin and slowly nodded with narrowed eyes, "yes. I think that would be of great assistance." He stood abruptly, "yes, I will watch Isabella while you are away at work. Everything will be fine, I will follow your instructions to a T. I will see you in the morning, John. Good night." And with that Sherlock was in his room, closing the door behind him. John decided he'd sit down, finish his cup of tea and attempt to finish reading his book in secret without Sherlock spoiling it for him, still amused by his friend's admission. "I know you're secretly reading that horrible excuse of a novel." Sherlock called from his room interrupting his thoughts. John looked up and realized Sherlock was still in his room, and hoped that he wouldn't spoil the book for him. "It was the assistant." John laughed, it obviously was the senator. "You think it was the senator. It wasn't the senator. It was the assistant."

"God damn it, Sherlock!"

John couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn he heard a dark chuckle escaping the room at the end of the hall.

* * *

John awoke to find Sherlock staring at him from the end of his bed holding two cups of tea, one for himself and one for John. "What the hell, Sherlock?"

Sherlock handed him the cup of tea in an exaggerated motion then turned to where Isabella slept in her crib then back to John. "Did you write down your instructions, I would like to have ample time to review them before you leave, should I have any questions I would like them answered immediately." John handed him the list he had prepared the previous night. Sherlock snapped the list from John's hand then abruptly turned on his heel and walked out as John watched him exit in astonishment. "You're always so dreadfully slow at responding to my texts when you're at work." He called back as he descended the stairs.

John walked down to meet him, "Sherlock, I wasn't even supposed to get up for another hour."

"Yes, John, I am aware of that."

"What were you going to do? Just sit and watch me sleep for an hour?"

"Calm down John, it's irrelevant as you are awake now and I have questions regarding your instructions and since my questions have to do with Isabella I think mine take precedence over yours."

"How long were you in my room?"

Sherlock gave a look of exasperation then held up the list with one hand and gestured to it with the other hand "Questions, John, I have them."

John sighed as he took his seat, "Okay, what are your questions?"

"Here you say 'body temperature' do you mean **my** body temperature, or the standard 37°?"

Another deep sigh as John brought his hands to his face and rubbed his tired eyes, "Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at his tired friend rubbing his eyes and remained silent when John finally looked back up at him.

"Sherlock, I'm tired. And I doubt that it particularly matters, it's just a guideline. It doesn't have to be followed **exactly**."

Sherlock looked confused, and it looked like he was deeply offended by his own confusion.

John sighed, "Exactly 37°."

"Was that so hard?" Sherlock playfully chastised as he scribbled a few notes down on the list.

John raised his eyebrows and allowed a murderous smile to play at his lips.

"Now, you say we need more baby formula here. Is that just a general statement of requirement, or is this need urgent? Will I need to go shopping, or are you going to pick some up on your way home and this is just you telling me?"

"You'll need to go get some." John could not believe these were serious questions and his amusement began to grow once again.

"How? I'll be looking after the baby."

"You can take her with you."

Sherlock stared at John with narrowed eyes.

John sighed again, amusement once again turning into annoyed disbelief, "You take the carrier seat, and you put her in, buckle her in, and tuck her in. Make sure she's wearing a hat, it's a little chilly outside."

Sherlock nodded and scribbled a few notes down on the paper once again.

"Next question…"

"Oh god, really Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked affronted at the interruption, "this is for Isabella. I have to know **exactly** what I'm doing."

John let his head thump against the table as he was seriously starting to regret this decision. "Fine Sherlock, how many more questions do you have?" he muttered from the table.

"Twelve."

"Oh god, Sherlock!" John abruptly sat up straight, blinked at the 'genius' sitting across from him, then giving up, got up and went into the washroom to take a shower.

"John?"

John entered the washroom and closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he leaned against the door and took a few deep, relaxing breaths. Once he opened them he allowed himself to see the humor of the situation. Yes, Sherlock was being obnoxious, but it showed that he cared. That he wanted to do his best to be there for them. John really appreciated it, and let himself laugh at how such a smart man, a brilliant man, could ask such silly questions. They practically answered themselves.

A knock at the bathroom door, "John, John, I still have twelve more questions."

John opened the door, "Sherlock. I'll fix the list and make it more specific when I get out of the shower, just let me shower in peace, please."

Sherlock stood quietly for a single moment, then nodded and left. John closed the door again, started the water and began taking off his clothes. Another knock at the washroom door. "Jesus, what?!"

"Isabella seems to be crying."

John opened the door, hiding slightly behind it as he was only wearing his pants, "What do you mean, 'seems to be'? She either is or she isn't."

Sherlock seemed to notice the lack of clothing, but said nothing in regards to it, "She is." He asserted.

"Well she's probably either hungry or needs a change. You can do that."

Sherlock looked very nervous.

"It'll be fine, just look at the list, it'll tell you what to do and how to check."

"Your list is horribly vague, John! How can you expect me to understand it when you are so vague?"

"Look. Sherlock. I am tired. I am stinky. I need a shower. You can do this. I know you can. I just need **five** minutes. Just **five** minutes. You said you would help out, please help out now. If you're not sure about something you can google it."

Sherlock looked genuinely offended at the mention of google, but turned his back and walked towards John's room where the baby slept, well, where the baby was now awake and crying.

John closed the door, once again, then removed his pants and stepped under the rushing warm water. The water soothed and relaxed his tired, stressed muscles. John simply stood under the cascading water for about a minute as he allowed his mind to momentarily wonder, trying to come to terms with the passing of his wife, trying to find time to mourn. He didn't have any time, he had a baby to take care of, and a job to work. Not to mention that Sherlock was pretty high maintenance as well. The only time he had to mourn or even think about his feelings was in the shower. All of five minutes.

John began to wash his hair, lathering it up with shampoo and rinsing. He began to wash his body, trying to scrub away the dust and dirt he had encountered from packing his old home and moving things around in his new one. Still trying to work through his feelings as he did so. God, why did emotions have to be so difficult to understand? He sighed with a slight smile, at least he was doing better in that regard than Sherlock, emotions and sentiment baffled the man.

"John."

John nearly jumped out of his own skin as he heard his flat mate's voice call his name, sounding far too close for comfort. He peaked out of the shower curtain to find his flat mate standing there holding a diaper-less baby at arm's length towards John. "What the bloody hell?!"

"Language John! The baby." Sherlock scolded as he held Isabelle only slightly closer to himself than before, "I knocked but you didn't answer."

"That doesn't bloody well mean you can come in, Sherlock! Get out!"

"But I need to know!" Sherlock practically moaned.

"Google!"

"Google is hardly a reliable resource for when one has a baby, John. And besides, I don't trust the website it directed me to, it didn't show its sources. I need to know now, besides, my question is one of location."

"My god Sherlock, I will kill you."

Sherlock smiled a wicked smile, "No, **Doctor** Watson, I don't think you will. I think you will answer me. Where are the baby wipes?" he then turned Isabella around to reveal her dirty behind to demonstrate the need for the baby wipes.

John sighed, "They're upstairs under her crib."

A triumphant smile grew across Sherlock's face as he drew Isabella close, cradling her in his arms as he trotted upstairs to receive the wipes. A sight which melted away John's irritation. 'Ugh, today is going to be a very up and down day,' he thought to himself as he rinsed his body and got dressed. Replaying the image of a tidy Sherlock holding his soiled daughter close to his chest without regard or worry for his clothes getting dirty. When he reached the living room he saw Sherlock staring at Isabella as she sat on his lap and he in his chair. A bizarre sight to say the least, Sherlock holding her in place and staring at her, unblinking, with great focus as though she were some great puzzle. She wore a fresh diaper, one victory of the day.

John moved to the couch to sit down, he still had more than enough time to get ready seeing as he was up an hour early. He just sat and watched his flat mate stare at his daughter.

"I think you should reconsider." Sherlock's deep voice broke through the silence and into John's thoughts.

"What, reconsider what?"

"Molly would be thrilled to look after Isabella while you're at work, she has today off and she and Tom are still on a break."

Annoyance, annoyance was filling John again. It seemed like today John was doomed to be flipping between annoyance and amusement. "Sherlock, we spoke about this, I can't just dump Isabella off on her on such short notice. It would be rude to Molly, and not to mention it would be rude to Isabella. She hasn't even met Molly, how do you think she'd feel about spending an entire day with her?"

Sherlock scoffed, "it would hardly be an 'entire day', John. Just the eight hours you're at work. And besides, she's not even a month old, she won't even remember this or even really be able to process her feelings."

"She might not remember it, but it'll still affect her, Sherlock." John's voice was stern and he leaned forward as he spoke to the stubborn genius, "you'll do fine. Just stop complaining."

Silence filled the room as the two men stared at each other, another conversation going unsaid communicated only through eye contact.

"I can't stay in all day, I have a case to work."

"No you don't."

"But I can't stay in all day! My mind, John! My mind will destroy itself!"

"First of all, that's not what this is about. This is about **you**, the great Sherlock holms, **you** being **scared** of a **baby**!"

"I'm not scared of a-"

"Yes you are." John interrupted and allowed a silence to fill the air before you continued, "and besides, you don't have to stay cooped up all day, you can take her outside with you." Sherlock smiled a mischievous grin before John continued thus wiping it from his face effectively, "no morgue, no Scotland Yard, and no dangerous places."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Then where exactly am I supposed to take her?"

"To the park," John urged, "or to a café, take her to the library or something. You can…" he glanced down at the first book he saw, "read to her about bees, Sherlock, I don't really care. As long as it's safe, and family friendly. No corpses or criminals."

Sherlock's face remained grew unreadable, but John could swear there was a little amusement lying behind those eyes of stormy seas.

"Okay John, this sounds perfectly agreeable."


	3. Chapter 3: Babysitting

Disclaimer, the same as always

Chapter 3: Babysitting

John left for work, leaving Sherlock reading to Isabella about bees. He shook his head as he closed the outermost door and stepped onto the street, laughing at the notion that Sherlock was doing **exactly** as he said. Sherlock was reading to Isabella. He was reading to her about bees. Bees! John tried to suppress the smug smile as he thought, 'I could get used to this.'

Work was relatively uneventful; his co-workers expressed their deepest condolences, asked how the baby was. He'd say she was doing well, healthy. They would say at least he had that. They would then ask what he decided to name her. He would explain that he named her Isabella; everyone loved the name and told him he did such a good job naming her (he wouldn't tell them that Sherlock had come up with the name.) They would then ask him what her middle name was, he would say that he hadn't quite decided yet, and he was immediately met with an abundance of suggestions, most people suggested 'Mary' then would offer up others after noticing his reluctance at the suggestion. Awful names, he hated every one of them. They all asked to see pictures, and demanded that he should bring her in to see them some time. He would answer in a rushed awkward manner about how he would, and he eventually escaped to his office and took some time to think.

John thought about Isabella and imagined Sherlock reading to her about bees and an entertaining thought crossed his mind. 'Isabella Sherlock Watson.' After all, Sherlock had said it was a girl's name. He could name her that then see how long it took for Sherlock to figure out her middle name. He'd have to hide the birth certificate in a safety deposit box. Otherwise it wouldn't take long. John laughed to himself at the thought. He thought of how everyone would react once they figured it out. It would be pretty hard to try to say they weren't a couple. He then wondered how Sherlock would react, and his mood softened from entertained to… well, he wasn't quite sure what this new emotion was… whatever it was, it was warm.

John wondered if everything was still okay. John hadn't left Isabella since she was born and it felt odd being away from her. He thought for a few moments then picked up the phone and dialed Mrs. Hudson's number.

"Hello dear, how's your first day back at work?" She sounded cheerful.

"Hi. Hello, it's good. Nice to get back to the routine." A pause of silence, "I was just wondering… Would you mind… checking up on Isabella? I have Sherlock watchi-"

"Oh yes dear, she's here. Sherlock dropped her off a few minutes ago. Said he had some errands to run." She still sounded very cheerful, leading into an almost pensive tone as she contemplated what errands Sherlock could possibly be running.

"Oh. Right, probably for the baby formula."

John could practically hear her all too knowing smile on the other end of the line, "it's nice that you have Sherlock. I was so worried about you when I heard about Mary, god rest her. It's just wonderful that you two have worked everything out." Oh god, he did not like where this was going. He had to get the conversation back on topic quickly.

"I'm sure Sherlock will be back soon to take Isabella off your hands. I'm sure you have things to do."

"Oh no, dear, I have nothing on today. And I really don't mind. She's such a sweetie." A small pause as she added, almost as an afterthought, "she has your eyes."

"Ah, yes, well thank you. She is very sweet."

"You must be so proud…"

A knock came at his door, "Right, well. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Thanks again, I have to go, I just wanted to call to check up on things."

"Oh no problem, have a lovely day."

"Ta." John hung up the phone with a light click then turned his attention to the door.

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the list then glanced back up to the variety of baby formula he was currently standing in front of. Why had John not specified? This is why he had insisted on so many questions. With a quick sigh and a roll of the eyes Sherlock delved into his mind palace to retrieve the information. He would have to inform John of his error and let John know just how fortunate he was that Sherlock had stored the information for some such event.

Once he returned from retrieving the vital information he noticed there was a woman standing next to him staring at him with admiration and undeniable attraction. Sherlock looked at her curiously for a moment, wondering what she required. A brief glance was sufficient to inform him that she wanted to start a conversation with him and that she was of no interest to him. He shoved aside the thoughts that perhaps a different brand would be more beneficial to Isabella's growth and health and instead he simply grabbed the baby formula, turned abruptly on his heel and walked towards the checkout.

"New father?" she called behind him as she tried to follow him.

He tried to ignore her.

"I only ask because you have that look about you, I just thought I may be able to help." She said despite him not responding. Usually not responding to people was a sufficient deterrent. Of course she would think she could help, divorced mother of two, one nine year old and one who was approximately six months next week. Next thing he would know she'd be trying to set up a 'play date' if he wasn't careful.

"I am caring for my friend's young daughter. We are both inexperienced in the matter of children."

She seemed slightly crestfallen at his response, but still continued the conversation, managing to stop Sherlock with what she said next, "oh. I see. Lucky lady."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turned to her and corrected her, "Lucky man. And Yes. He is."

She looked genuinely shocked, and disappointed, but allowed for him to walk away without another word.

Sherlock smiled at ridding himself of the annoyingly persistent woman. Then gave some consideration to what his words actually implied, given the context. A dark chuckle, well it didn't matter, John wasn't here to fill the air with 'not gay,' or 'not a couple.'

As he was heading back to Baker Street, a thought occurred to him. One more stop couldn't hurt.

* * *

John entered the first door to home and once inside encountered Mrs. Hudson. "Hello dear," she cooed at him, big smile plastered all over her face, "good day at work?"

It was okay, he had been right that it would be a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, however the actual work had been rather mundane, which he supposed was nice. But he could have used a distraction from worrying about Sherlock and Isabella, and having the realization that his wife had died, leaving him alone to raise a kid on his own hitting him like a hammer. The only conclusion that he could come to was that he would just have to keep on living, day to day and hope for the best.

He wouldn't say any of that though, "Uh, yes, yes, it was fine. Your day? Hope Sherlock didn't bother you too much… with Isabella?" He stood awkwardly, clenching his fists, torn between talking to his land lady and ascending the stairs to check on his daughter and flat mate.

"Oh no, he was fine. Seemed a little nervous though." She smiled a big bright smile.

John smiled in return, "Yea? Good. Well, that's good… Good that he didn't bother you too much. Not good that he's nervous." John narrowed his eyes a bit as he shook his head slightly, god he was blabbering, he needed to stop blabbering, he attempted a smile to cover up his awkward rambling.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to not be bothered by it as she dismissed him, "you go upstairs; I'll make you both a cuppa. You both could probably use it, long day I'd imagine." She turned to her own flat, leaning out of her door giving him one last big smile as he started ascending the stairs and she went to start the kettle and make the tea.

Once upstairs he stopped in place and stared in awe at the sight that met his eyes. Sherlock was **asleep**; he was **asleep** with **Isabella napping on his chest.** Sherlock never slept, yet here he was, with John's little baby girl asleep on his chest, books about bees surrounding them, and one such book still in his hand, "The ABC & XYZ of Bee Culture: An Encyclopedia Pertaining to the Scientific and Practical Culture of Honey Bees." John smiled to himself; of course it would be an encyclopedia about bees.

John wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring at the spectacle currently within view, but before he knew it Mrs. Hudson was standing just behind him, peering over his shoulder in equal awe.

"He's been reading to her all day." She whispered up to him, "all about bees." She smiled and tried to suppress a quiet chuckle. "I don't know who enjoyed it more, Isabella or Sherlock."

John glanced back at her with surprised amusement written on his features. "Well, it's probably about time for Isabella's nap anyway. I'm just not sure if I want to risk moving her. She might wake."

Mrs. Hudson shrugged as she moved into the kitchen to put the tea tray down on the paper covered table. "I don't know what to tell you dear."

Just then Sherlock's voice rumbled from where he supposedly slept, in his chair, in the living room, drawing Mrs. Hudson's and John's attention, "She's not asleep anymore."

John almost laughed as he and Mrs. Hudson jumped in surprise. "And neither are you." John smiled at his flat mate, still standing at the top of the stairs.

"I wasn't asleep, John. Don't be foolish." He said as he stood swiftly, gently cradling Isabella to his chest. "I will go lay her down in her crib. It only makes sense as I am already holding her and the fewer transfers she goes through the less likely she will be to cry and the more likely she is to return to her slumbers." Sherlock announced as he disappeared upstairs leaving John and Mrs. Hudson to share a look.

Sherlock returned and glanced at the doctor and land lady sharing a look, he furrowed his brow momentarily as he returned to his seat where he tossed two books onto the floor.

John broke the silence, "thanks for looking after her, Sherlock. Did she behave well?"

Sherlock arched an eyebrow then picked up his violin and began to gently pluck the strings, "she's not even a month old yet, John. How would she misbehave?"

John shrugged "…So, bees?" he said as he took the two cups of tea from the table, sitting in his seat across from Sherlock and placing one cup within his reach.

Mrs. Hudson gave one of her infamously knowing smiles as she descended the stairs once again.

"What about bees?"

"I just… I don't remember all these books being here before I went to work… Are they new?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he turned his head to look more directly at his friend, "I've been meaning to purchase them for quite some time. Today seemed like an opportune day as Isabella seems to like hearing about bees."

John nodded as he leaned forward in his chair, cup of tea in his hands. The two men stared at each other in silence for a while, a smile playing on John's lips and Sherlock narrowing his eyes, furrowing his brow, trying to figure out what the doctor found so amusing in the reading of bees before Sherlock finally broke eye contact with a roll of his eyes and continued to pluck gently at the stings of his violin. "I enjoy reading about bees, she enjoys hearing about bees. It makes sense."

"But…Bees, really?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in that distinct way that informed John that he should elaborate, a silent reprimand at being so vague.

"Why do you like bees so much?" John was still smiling as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, still maintaining eye contact with the curly haired genius who seemed so fond of bees.

Sherlock shrugged, put his violin down abruptly, stood and walked to peer out the window.

That is how they stayed, for quite a while. Sherlock stood at the window, staring out to the street, dusk beginning to fall as John sat in his seat, watching the brilliant bee lover in silence.

"You should go to bed, John, you're tired."

John rubbed his face and nodded, he really was tired; sleep had been minimal lately. Then he remembered, "ugh, but there's no point, Isabella will wake up in about an hour and she'll need to be fed. I'll go to sleep after that."

"That's quite all right. I'm more than capable of doing it. Go to bed, get some rest."

John raised his eyebrows momentarily then nodded again, suddenly feeling just how tired he was. He stood from his seat, leaving his tea where it sat (completely forgetting about it, to be honest) and went upstairs, to bed. He only stopped to watch Isabella sleeping soundly before he allowed his head to hit the pillow. It didn't even strike him as odd that Sherlock would be coming upstairs in about an hour, walking into his room and feeding Isabella while he slept. It just felt… normal. Like that's how things were supposed to be, maybe with Sherlock's help everything would be okay. He wouldn't have to live on a day to day basis. He could be happy again.

* * *

An hour and a half later Isabella awoke and needed to be fed. Sherlock swiftly and silently made his way up the stairs to the room where John slept and Isabella waited, she hadn't yet started to cry but she would if he took too much time. He gently raised her from the crib and took her downstairs where he had the formula waiting. He gently rocked her as he fed her, gazing down at her in awe. "You have your father's eyes you know." She looked up at him as though he were some sort of god. Sherlock continued to talk to her as she drank from the bottle, "it's a ridiculous notion, I know. You can't **actually** have your father's eyes. But they do bare an uncanny resemblance."

He looked up and away from Isabella for a moment, but returned his gaze to her as she attempted to grip the bottle as he held it for her, a big smile spreading across his face. "You also resemble your mother quite a bit." Sherlock quieted for a moment almost lost in thought, he listened and glanced up for a moment to make sure John was still in bed. "I…" Sherlock wanted to say so much to this little girl. He wanted someone to hear, someone to know, but even though she'd never remember it, never be able to tell, he just couldn't. He couldn't say these things out loud. He couldn't explain all the sentiment hiding behind the mask of indifference; and now that he thought about it, really thought about it, he didn't really need to. He shook his head at himself for a moment, then looking down at the little girl that he held in his arms, who had stopped drinking from the bottle in his hands as her hunger had been sated, then said, "Your father knows this already, but I feel even though you lack the cognitive capacity to process the information, you need to know. I will always be here for you, no matter what. No matter what you need, I will be here for both you and your father."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to AngryHobbit for the reviews! They made my day :D I had actually been thinking of that. I don't know if I will have that be her middle name, it might be a little too cheesy, but when you mentioned it I felt like I had to at least mention it. :P


	4. Chapter 4: Please help my John!

Again, I own nothing (I suppose maybe the name Isabella.. but ultimately nothing)

Chapter 4: "Please help my John!"

A young woman in her mid-twenties rushed up the stairs, her hand grazing the railing as she entered 221B without announcing herself, "please! Mr. Holmes?!"

Sherlock peered out from the kitchen at the woman that had rushed into their living room while John looked up from Isabella, momentarily stopping his gentle rocking; scowling a bit as she re-awoke from all the noise, all that work for nothing. Sherlock looked at John and Isabella then turned to their guest, "I believe it's considered common courtesy to announce oneself **before** entering someone's home. In fact, I believe that most people would even knock." Then he walked over, pulling out the client seat before he took his seat, drew his legs up to his chest and pressing his fingers together, to his lips. John stood and took his regular seat and held Isabella with one arm as he prepared to take notes with the other, still managing to gently rock her from side to side while humming ever so softly.

The young lady stood in the center of the room, completely baffled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. It's just… I didn't think…"

"Yes, you didn't think. You are clearly too overwhelmed with thoughts of your fiancé to bother considering proper manners." Sherlock interrupted then gestured for her to take the seat he had placed for her.

The young woman continued to look absolutely baffled, she stood until Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, gesturing to the seat again.

"No. Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. Very sorry. I didn't realize that you and Dr. Watson had taken your relationship to the next level, I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked over to John, waiting for John to respond with the common, 'we're not actually a couple.' Or something expressing a similar notion, but John simply continued to watch the young lady, waiting for her to tell her story. It was only when the silence continued that John looked over to Sherlock. Sherlock quickly looked away, back to the client; now was not the time to allow his mind to mull over the possible insinuations at John's lack of protest… Sherlock had never objected to being perceived as a couple, but that was because he didn't exactly object to actually being a couple, but John? What did this mean for John? Sherlock's head was spinning as he looked back to the client, his face slightly slack from his mind temporarily slowing in an attempt to swim with thoughts of John. Eventually he managed, "So… What is it your fiancé is accused of?" His tone sounded devoid of emotion. Good, at least he wasn't completely lost to sentiment.

"Murder! But I know in my heart that he couldn't have done it!" The young lady began, Sherlock was about to dismiss her, tell her that she had been wrong about him and that sentiment often gets the better of people, something about human error when she immediately saw his disinterest and resorted to begging, "Please, Mr. Holmes, please help my John!"

John? Sherlock looked over to John who was still watching the client, then down to Isabella who now was asleep in John's arms. What if his John needed help, what if he wasn't there to help him, would no one help him? Sherlock glared at the ground, facing away from the other occupants of the room for a moment, then returned his attention to the young woman sitting in the rather uncomfortable wood seat in front of him. "Tell me what happened," was all that escaped his lips, almost without permission. Damn sentiment, getting the better of him more and more frequently, he was going to have to sort this out once the case was done.

She looked at Sherlock with wide brown eyes, relief written all over her soft, feminine features and she took a deep breath, preparing to tell her story. "His name is John McFarlane, he's a solicitor, yesterday John texted me saying he had to work late. Apparently he was going to be out **very** late. I said okay, and thanked him for telling me. You know, because I don't like it when he's out late and I don't know where he is. I get really worried." She paused, looked at the two men sitting in front of her, noticed Sherlock's curious skepticism and then hurriedly added, "It's not that I don't trust him! I do, I absolutely do, it's just I worry, I worry a lot. And I can't help it."

John nodded empathetically, the young lady seemed to find comfort in the gesture and continued, a little more calmly, "So he comes home last night, and I asked him how work was. He seemed really happy, he said he was surprised when an old friend of his parents stopped by and made him his heir! Apparently the man is an old bachelor with no living relatives, so he thought he'd leave it to the son of an old friend. He went on about how the man has a lot of money and property and how it was such a surprise, but how the man told him not to tell anyone until the papers were final. He said that they were to finalize them in the morning. He just couldn't wait to tell me." She tried to force a smile to keep from crying. "I don't know what happened!" she dropped her head into her hands, beginning to sob now, "The police showed up this morning going off about how John had killed this man for his money. I don't understand it! John would never do something like that! He's a good man, I know it, and I just know they've got it all wrong!"

Sherlock abruptly stood, "Okay, Ms…?"

"Oh, Tina, I'm Tina Waterston."

"Well, Ms. Waterston, is there _any_ other information you can offer?"

"No, I'm sorry, it all happened so fast."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation but then surprised John when he responded with, "Very well. I will look into your fiancé's situation. Hopefully by the end of the day I shall be able to shed some light on the matter." Sherlock turned to John as he put his coat on, "come along John, case won't solve itself… especially if the yard is on the case."

"I'm going to have to sit this one out, Sherlock. Sorry."

Sherlock stared at John in slightly hurt confusion, a facial expression only John could recognize, as Tina looked up at Sherlock in appreciative patience, waiting for him to go solve her troubles for her.

"I have to stay to watch Isabella."

"Can't you…"

"No, I'm not taking her to the yard with us, especially since you'll probably have to stop off at the morgue and god knows where else! No, not happening."

Sherlock considered this for a moment, "Mrs. Hudson-"

"Is out of town, visiting her sister."

"… Molly?"

"Sherlock!"

"What? An innocent man could be imprisoned if we don't take this case!"

John scoffed, his voice rising slightly in pitch "No, Sherlock, not if we don't take the case, if **you** don't take this case."

Sherlock scoffed, "John, as ever you underestimate your value to me and the work. Besides, Isabella has met Molly now, I'm sure that it wouldn't disturb her too much to find Molly here when she awakens. I also happen to know Molly would adore Isabella. Call Molly, she'll be more than happy to babysit, she won't even mind this _dreadful_ short notice, especially if you tell her it's for a case!"

"Why do you need me to come with you? You've solved cases without me plenty of times!"

Sherlock considered this, why did he need to bring John along? Because he's used to having him around? Because John didn't deny being in a relationship with him? That definitely needed more consideration. Ah, it was because of sentiment, human error. Perhaps Sherlock could manage this all on his own, but then, how many times has John saved him? There were too many times to count. Sherlock considered all this within a moment and calmly responded, "I'd be lost without my blogger." He then swooped into his bedroom to give himself time to think and John time to phone Molly.

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom. He was almost tempted to go bang on his door and tell him that he wasn't coming with, that he wouldn't call Molly. But John knew better than that. Instead he pulled out his phone and dialed Molly's number.

It wasn't long before she answered, "Oh, hello John." She sounded slightly confused.

"Hey Molly, sorry I haven't been in touch lately, been really busy. Still busy in fact." He allowed a small pause as he took a breath, he didn't want to seem in too much of a rush, wanted to keep things light, "I'm actually just calling because Sherlock's got a case and is convinced that he needs my help. I was just wondering if you'd mind watching Isabella here at the flat for a few hours, if you're not busy, she'll mostly just sleep. I'd ask Mrs. Hudson, but she's gone out of town for the week."

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course, of course, it would be my pleasure. You know. I don't mind."

"Yea? Oh thank you, you're a life saver."

"No problem, when do you need me to come over?"

"uhh, probably as soon as possible, I think Sherlock's in a bit of a rush."

"Okay, I'll be right over."

John hung up the phone and looked up to see a small smile failing to be hidden on Tina's lips. He looked at her skeptically, furrowing his brow momentarily and cocking his head slightly to the side.

"She looks a lot like you."

"Ah, yes, well… thank you."

"You both must be very proud."

"Er, yes. I would say so."

"I'm sorry I was so noisy when I came in, I'm just really scared."

"That's okay, it's perfectly understandable."

"I just didn't realize that you and Sherlock would have a baby!"

"Ah, well…" but before John could refute her statement he felt Sherlock's hand being gently placed on his shoulder, and the tall man's baritone voice interrupted him. When had Sherlock come out of his room?

"Molly's on her way?"

"Er, yes." John tried to keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks. John really wished he had more control of his emotions. Sherlock has on multiple occasions said 'not interested in relationships' or 'married to the work' or 'love is a chemical defect found in the losing side,' 'human error,' or other such remarks, all criticizing _sentiment_. But then there was the wedding, and Appledore. John had been with Mary at the time, which was the only thing that kept him from trying anything, from trying to find out exactly what was hidden behind that mask of indifference; but he had Mary and what at the time was the future baby. Now Mary was gone, but Isabella was still here. John just couldn't risk thinking about it, or acting on any of it. There were more important things than his feelings right now, Isabella and her wellbeing for example.

"Well, Mrs. Waterston, I believe you can take your leave now. We will find out whether your fiancé is innocent or not. But **please **prepare yourself should there be a guilty verdict."

Tina seemed shocked at Sherlock's brutal honesty. John gave him the look that wordlessly suggested: _a bit not good._ Sherlock looked from John back to Tina, "… Sorry. But you should be prepared should the worst happen." Sherlock really was just trying to be kind; he just wasn't very good at it. Sherlock looked down at John fondly for a moment while his eyes were still on Tina. This was one of the things that Sherlock admired about John the most. Something that was always surprising about him, more surprising than how he would always compliment him, or how he always stayed was the fact that when Sherlock made a social blunder John would never judge him or call him a freak, just would gently correct it. He would let Sherlock know what he did wrong. John probably felt like he was just going through the motions, but Sherlock always stored that information in his mind palace for future reference. He would try to better himself for John, always for John.

Tina nodded, still a little shaken by Sherlock's bluntness, but soon stood and left the flat.

It wasn't long before Sherlock grew impatient for Molly's arrival. He was practically jumping off the walls. Pacing the floor quite rapidly, "why is she taking so long?"

"She hasn't been that long. It'll probably be five or ten minutes until she gets here."

Sherlock scoffed as he turned to John abruptly, staring down at him with unrivaled intensity. John met his gaze calmly, affectionately. Neither of them said anything, they just stared at each other; John sitting in his seat and Sherlock standing directly in front of him, looking rather predatory.

There was a ring of the doorbell. Just how long had they stayed like that? John stood from his seat and descended the stairs to let Molly in. The greeting was awkward; Molly was absolutely gooey at the sight of Isabella in John's arms. "I was just about to put her down; she shouldn't give you too much trouble."

Molly nodded agreeably as they made their way up the stairs.

Sherlock was nowhere in sight as Molly and John reached the top. They looked at each other, John then turned to Molly and said that he'd put her down and show her where everything is. Molly nodded in return. Once they returned downstairs as John was explaining a few things Sherlock re-appeared out of his room and handed Molly the list that John had made for him the first time he needed to babysit.

"Here, I think you will find these instructions adequate. I have made some adjustments as John was too vague."

Molly almost laughed; she had a big smile on her face as she looked to John to check if Sherlock was serious. John covered his smile with his hand as he nodded. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm sure I can follow the instructions." Molly asserted in an almost teasing tone.

Sherlock looked at Molly through narrowed eyes, debating whether he could really entrust Isabella with her. After a moment he nodded minutely and moved swiftly down the stairs. "Come along John, the case won't solve itself."

John looked at Molly, offering an apologetic smile then said good bye and thanked her again then followed Sherlock out onto the street, to solve their case.

* * *

Thank you to everyone for all the reviews, favorites and follows! It makes it really easy to want to write the next chapter. I'm quite nervous that the quality will drop... but I'll do my best to update regularly without letting it dip too much! Next chapter you'll find out if Mr. John McFarlane is guilty or not!


	5. Chapter 5: Blog Update

A/N As you will quickly be able to tell, this chapter is a little different. Hope you enjoy! :D

* * *

Chapter 5: Blog Update

**First Case in a While**

Sorry it's been a while since my last update, things have been busy with Mary and the baby. Mary died in childbirth and things have been kind of difficult to get adjusted to the new life with the baby. Her name is Isabella by the way. Over the past month I've been trying to get used to balancing work, Isabella and Sherlock. He's been great. I am really thankful that I have him. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have him through all of this, he's been especially great with Isabella. We haven't had a case since before Isabella was born. I'm really surprised that Sherlock hasn't shot the wall yet. He seems to have a lot of, dare I say it, love for Isabella, he sits with her at least once a day and just reads to her. About bees! Life is full of surprises! And so is Sherlock!

A few days ago a young woman named Tina Waterston came rushing upstairs with a plea for us to help her fiancé who was accused of murder. At first Sherlock looked bored, poor girl didn't have much information for us. But then he jumped up and decided he would take it (not before warning her to prepare for him to be guilty). I thought I'd just stay in with Isabella, watch her and have a quiet day. but Sherlock had other ideas, he insisted that I phone Molly to babysit. I could see that I would have to give in, he's so hard to say no to and I wanted him to take the case just in case Tina's fiancé really was innocent, so I agreed.

We ran off to Scotland yard where we met up with Lestrade. He told us how John had been made Jack Oldacre's heir just the night before and how in his greed he had killed the man to collect on the will sooner to pay for his wedding and give him and his fiancé a good start in life. We were shown pictures of a charcoaled body that had been found, they had even found John's jacket covered in blood at the scene. We then interviewed John McFarlane who told us the story about how Jack Oldacre had come to him the previous day to make him his soul heir. I have to say, I was a little skeptical, it did look like good motive. Sherlock wasn't convinced though, I almost think he was hoping that this bloke was really innocent. We visited the victim's house next and spoke to his house keeper. She was an older woman who seemed absolutely bitter about everything, very unkind. She told us about how she had seen the two men get into a fight and swore that he had done it. She didn't seem particularly bothered by the fact that her employer had just been murdered, but it all seemed pretty straight forward. Everything was pointing to Mr. McFarlane. It was really odd, at the time, out of nowhere Sherlock suddenly started to pace each of the halls of the house, and each room with manic energy. I had no idea what he was doing, it seemed too bizarre and for a moment I almost thought he had lost his mind. After we had gone round the entire house, each hallway, each room with his manic pacing he smiled then demanded to go take a look at Mr. Oldacre's finances.

Once Sherlock had taken a look we returned to the victim's house at Sherlock's request. We were met there by Lestrade, once we got there Sherlock took us around the house again with his manic pacing. I was starting to think that I would have to convince Lestrade to not have Sherlock institutionalized. But then he turned to us demanding to know whether we had noticed or not. We had noticed his crazy pacing, but that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Then he scoffed, took us to the end of the hallway on the top floor and started a small fire using a newspaper. I really thought he'd lost it. The smoke alarm went off and out of the end of the hallway- a dead end- came Mr. Jack Oldacre! He hadn't been murdered! He hadn't even died! Turns out John McFarlane's mother had turned down his advances when they were young and he had never quite gotten over it. So he came up with a plot to frame her son for his murder, set up an alias, married his house keeper and accomplice and transferred massive amounts of money to that account. He then took a homeless man in, didn't even know his name, cared for him, had him use the shower, the brush, tooth brush, everything so they'd find that DNA and figure it was his. Then he MURDERED this homeless man, BURNED his body and told his new wife/accomplice to LIE to the police and say that it was him. I don't think I've ever been more disgusted at a person before in my life. Sherlock seemed furious too. Both Mr. Oldacre and his wife are now in custody, John McFarlane has been released and is back, happy with his fiancé.

Good thing Sherlock took the case.

She likes hearing about bees! What am I supposed to do? Ignore that?

Sherlock Holmes

I think she just likes to hear you read to her. She probably wouldn't care what you read to her about.

John Watson

Yea, if you could not mention me in your blog… I'd appreciate that

Greg L.

She likes hearing about bees.

Sherlock Holmes

You just like reading about bees.

John Watson

I can't believe this. JOHN no more mentioning me in your blog!

Greg L.

Okay, Sorry Greg

John Watson

You should be thankful, Lestrad, we solve your cases for you.

Sherlock Holmes

It's so nice having the boys back!

Mrs. Hudson

Sorry to hear about Mary, John. Come out for a Pint when you have the night off! It'd be great to catch up!

Bill Murray 

Yea, definitely. It would be nice to get out with the boys again!

John Watson

When are you going to bring her over to visit me?!

Harry Watson 

Soon.

John Watson

MARY DIED?!

Donna Staveley

Yes, in childbirth.

Sherlock Holmes

I'm sorry for your loss, John

Mike Stamford

Thanks, it's been tough

John Watson

Can we talk about how someone murdered a homeless person so they could frame a former crush's son?

Theimprobableone

Yea, that's pretty messed up.

Jacob Sowersby

It certainly was. Fortunately for John McFarlane, my blogger and I were on the case.

Sherlock Holmes

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CLEARING MY JOHN'S NAME! I AM SO GRATEFUL!

Tina W.

No problem, we're glad to help.

John Watson

Sorry again for waking up Isabella, I seriously had no idea you and Sherlock had a baby!

Tina W.

It's okay.

John Watson

_Comment deleted_

Harry Watson

Inappropriate, Harry

John Watson

Bravo. Bravo everyone. Aren't the doctor and his daughter just SO cute?

Anonymous 

* * *

A/N: I read through all of John's blog today, and Sherlock's too as "research" for this chapter… I have NO idea how people don't ship it, it's crazy.


	6. Chapter 6: Sentiment

Chapter 6: Sentiment

Sherlock stared at the screen, at the anonymous comment, the anonymous benefactor, the anonymous man behind the games. Why bother posting under anonymous anymore? Sherlock knew the name behind the man, knew the face, the voice. His frustration grew; sentiment had caused a great delay, it is not such a preposterous thought to consider he could have already solved this had there been no distraction.

As though sensing it was the worst possible time, Mycroft appeared in the doorway. Scoffing rather loudly, Sherlock refreshed the page of his friend's blog page and watched as a few more comments appeared, Molly commenting on how wonderful Isabella is, John thanking her for babysitting again (why must everyone always thank each other incessantly?), Molly insisting that it was her pleasure. "I'm busy, Mycroft."

"You're not here to live happily ever after with your… _family_, you're here to figure out Moriarty." Mycroft stated from the doorway, acting as though his umbrella was of more interest to him than the current conversation. "It is essential we know if he's back, and what his plans are. Or at the very least we need to know who is behind this, and why."

"I'm well aware, _Mycroft_, unfortunately not all my cases can be solved in a day. Moriarty is certainly one such case. This will require a great amount of effort and a great amount of time." Sherlock didn't bother to look away from his computer, with the exception of a quick, exaggerated eye roll as he spoke.

"Well… as long as you're looking into it." Mycroft mocked a smile, which appeared to be more of a grimace.

Sherlock was growing more and more impatient with each passing second of this tedious conversation, "Yes. Mycroft. I am. Now, unless you want to needlessly consume more of my _precious_ time, I suggest you take your leave."

"As long as you **are** working on it. After all, there still is that mission in Eastern Europe that needs taking care of. If we can't use you here…" Mycroft allowed the sentence to lay open in the air as he turned and descended the stairs. Sherlock finally looked up from the computer and at the doorway at the top of the staircase, at his brother's absence. Sherlock scowled, that was completely unnecessary. And rude. It was also very rude.

Slowly, Sherlock could hear John's footsteps slowly descending the stairs from his room; he still held his lap top under his arm. Apparently he wasn't quite done spending time on his computer. Yet he was coming downstairs even though he could sit on his bed with an eye on Isabella while he checked his email, blog and the like. He must have overheard the conversation between Mycroft and Sherlock.

John's face looked hesitant, yes, yes he definitely heard the conversation. Impressive.

"What was that about?" John gently questioned.

"What was what about?" an elegant shrug, attempting to seem aloof.

"What did Mycroft want?"

"Something unimportant, I would imagine. My brother does seem fond of wasting my time. Especially when he knows I have better things to be doing."

"Wouldn't have happened to have anything to do with Moriarty, would it have?" John took his seat across from Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "If you heard the conversation and want to talk about it, just say so. Stop beating around the bush. I don't have time for this." Sherlock had begun emailing some of his contacts, homeless network, various officials or hackers. Aggravated at the distraction that is John, and at how hard it was to just ignore him.

"Fine, yea. Okay. I want to talk about this."

Sherlock looked up from his computer, furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes for a moment as he attempted to figure out what John wanted before having to sit through an entire conversation to find out. No answers came to him, so he resumed his mask of indifference as he prepared to converse with his flat mate.

Silent eye contact.

"What is it about that mission in Eastern Europe that he's threatening you with?"

No comment about Mycroft's 'family' comment? Interesting.

"He knows I would find it tedious and beneath me." Lies, obviously, but he can't let John know the truth.

"That's bull shit and you know it." John momentarily surprised Sherlock.

It wasn't long before he recuperated, "I don't know what you mean."

"You heard me Sherlock." Wow, John really **wasn't** beating around the bush now.

Sherlock couldn't repress a smile; he really did like it when John got assertive.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, John. Don't worry about it." Sherlock tried to dismiss him as he returned his gaze to the computer screen in front of him.

"I can't just _not_ worry about it. Sherlock, it affects me too."

Sherlock was baffled again, "What? How so?"

"Well. Like he said, you are part of this family now. Isabella needs you just as much as the country needs you." Sherlock stared at his flat mate sitting across from him with open shock, mouth hanging agape. John continued, "We need you, here- preferably safe. Isabella wouldn't be as happy without you to… read to her… about… bees." A wide smile spread across John's face, he still found that really funny.

Sherlock turned his head slightly to the side, bit his lip a little- his mind racing, he was important to this wonderful man and his wonderful daughter, he wasn't sure if he would have ever seen that coming - then nodded slightly. "It would be extremely unlikely that I would return from that mission should I leave." John raised both his eyebrows, and attempted to force the rest of his face to remain neutral. Sherlock could see past it though, John was surprised and deeply concerned and while it caused a fluttering sensation in his abdomen (what was this, stomach, diaphragm?) he felt compelled to put John's mind at ease, "He won't send me away. I am of far too much use to not only him, but the government and the population in general. He wouldn't lose such a valuable asset such as me over **one** murder. Especially since it is an incident that will not be repeated."

"Really?" John seemed relieved, this was good.

"Yes, John. I solve murders, I don't commit them. Despite what Sally Donovan might suggest." Sherlock spoke in an offhand manner as he returned his focus to the computer.

"No, Sherlock, not about you not killing again- which I'm thankful for- but about him not sending you away." John rolled his eyes as he corrected him, for such a genius…

"Ah. Yes, he would never. Not to mention that despite my brother's best efforts at avoiding sentiment, he is affected by it and would not be able to send me away even if he wanted to."

John wanted to say more, wanted to ask more. More about… about that murder. But he couldn't, not right now. So he got up and went into the kitchen to make a cuppa before Sherlock had a chance to notice that he still had questions. He really didn't want to talk about it right now.

Sherlock resumed his research on Moriarty and the possibilities. Could he have faked his death, if so, how? If anyone could do it aside from Sherlock himself, it was Moriarty. Could it be an impersonator, if so- why? What was in it for them? Why were they doing it? Someone who knew Moriarty? Friend? No. Moriarty did not seem one for friends- but then, neither did Sherlock. Family member? Sherlock would have to look into living family members, he knew of the older brother, a professor at the University of Cambridge. He vaguely recollected hearing about a sister, younger, older?

Sherlock abruptly stood from his seat, placed his lap top on the table then stretched out on the couch in his thinking position. He was far too clothed for this. He could feel the fabric against his skin, distracting his mind from its work. He stood, removed his jacket, shoes and socks then returned to his thinking position.

John returned to the living room to see Sherlock lying there, clothes strewn across the floor and simply raised his eyebrows then sat back in his seat and watched the genius think for a few moments, then turned his attention to his laptop. John happily sat browsing the internet when suddenly Sherlock abruptly stood again and shouted "I need to think!"

"Sherlock, seriously, while I appreciate that you need to- no, Sherlock, just no!" But John's protests came too late, Sherlock had already commenced unbuttoning his shirt and removing it, and before John knew it, Sherlock's pants were already being tossed across the room. John shook his head as the scantily clad genius flopped back onto the couch, then alternated between his thinking pose and typing frantically at his computer, occasionally growling in anger then flopping back onto the couch. Closing his eyes, Sherlock seemed to sink even further into the couch as he flicked thoughts here and there in front of his face, sorting through his mind palace's store of information.

John turned his gaze from his computer screen to his nearly naked flat mate lying on the couch. He momentarily allowed himself to scan his tall body, then smiled and returned his gaze to the computer screen. "Something funny, John?" Sherlock's baritone voice broke into John's thoughts, "I can hear you smiling."

John allowed a laugh, "actually, yes. Molly sent me a new cat video," a lie, "Want to watch it with me?"

Sherlock scoffed then glanced over at John, "No. I have better things to be doing with my time. And frankly so do you, we're running low on baby formula. Also, I've sent you information on the various brands of baby formula and other natural alternatives, your time would be much more valuably spent reading through that information than observing _yet another_ cat video."

"How are we out of baby formula again?!" John tried to keep his voice's volume and pitch under control. Then he realized, rolled his eyes, "have you been using Isabella's **baby formula** for experiments?"

Sherlock abruptly sat up, elbows on knees, hands making an open gesture in the air, "it's more efficient than milk and Isabella hates it anyway!"

"Sherlock!"

They sat in silence for a few moments, learning towards each other, both maintaining eye contact.

"Read the articles I sent you, I'm sure we can think of _something_ better for her than that _shh-tuff_."

"Stuff?"

"Yes, John, _stuff_."

"You almost sounded as though you were going to say shite."

"Well I was, but then I reconsidered."

"Why?"

"Isabella!" He said it as though her name would solve all the world's issues, as if the name contained all the answers then stomped into his room. John raised his eyebrows and managed to close his gaping mouth after a moment as the moody genius stormed by him, shaking his head and laughing to himself at how much of a child he really was. Sherlock had been right; he pretty much is a baby on his own, giving John lots of practice for Isabella.

Sherlock soon reappeared from his room, fully dressed then stomped down the stairs. "Get some baby formula!" John teasingly called down to him as he departed the flat.

"**READ THE ARTICLES I SENT YOU**." Sherlock responded sternly, but it failed to illicit the desired reaction. John simply chuckled and continued to brows youtube for cute cat videos; only getting up to check on Isabella when she woke.

* * *

When Sherlock returned, he smelled of… John couldn't quite place the smell. It was a very… dirty smell. "Where were you?" Sherlock didn't respond as he headed in the direction of the washroom. "Get any baby formula?" John teased once Sherlock's back was to him, almost in the washroom. Sherlock turned to him with a scowl.

"You didn't read the articles, did you?"

John decided to change the subject, while his mind was on it, "have you seen my tie?"

"What?"

"My tie, my black tie, I haven't seen it in a couple weeks."

Sherlock furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes then they widened in realization for hardly a moment before his face was reset in indifference. "No John, I have no idea where your tie is." Sherlock again turned his attention to the washroom, and was about to enter when John spoke again, this time holding up a black tie that had a nasty looking knot in it.

"That's funny, because I found it under the chair. Mrs. Hudson says that you've been using it as an eye patch." The black tie turned slowly, dangling in John's loose grip. Sherlock fully turned to him this time, and even took a few steps closer. Then shook his head, dismissed John with a wave of his hand and stepped fully into the washroom, turning the water on for his shower. "You don't even care, do you?" John called to Sherlock in the washroom from where he sat in his chair.

"About your tie, not even a little." John could practically hear the smug grin that was plastered across the smelly genius's face.

"What were you even doing with it?" John called back.

Sherlock leaned out of the washroom, bare chest exposed as he was standing just in his pants with a very large smile on his face, "we were playing pirates!"

John burst out laughing and Sherlock seemed very confused by this. Before Sherlock could question what John found so funny he said, "Thank you, Sherlock, so much. Thank you for letting us stay, for helping take care of Isabella, thank you for everything. You've been amazing."

Sherlock furrowed his brows, stared at the wall; he then returned his gaze to John, "I've been amazing?"

John smiled one of his comforting smiles, "of course, of course you have."

"Amazing for… personal… things? Not just… for… solving crimes?" Sherlock sounded so confused, John found it incredibly endearing.

John stood up, took a few steps so he could see his flat mate's face a little better, "yes, Sherlock. Isabella loves you; you're like her second parent." John paused a moment, he wanted to give himself a little time to think, and to give Sherlock, who appeared to be processing the information of advanced civilizations over thousands of years in the span of a few seconds, time to think, "No one could ever be Mary, and no one would ever want you to try. But you're filling the space in Isabella's life that she would have had. And you are doing a marvelous job at it. Thank you so much for being here for us." Wow, that came out a lot easier than he had expected.

Sherlock seemed baffled, looking around the flat frantically, arms hanging limp at his sides, mouth hanging in about the same manner as his arms, blinking frequently and standing exceptionally straight. John simply smiled then walked up to his baffled friend and embraced him in a tight hug. After a few moments Sherlock hesitantly began to hug back. They stood there, hugging while the water of the shower continued to run in the washroom, when John mumbled into Sherlock's chest, "You smell really bad."

"Yes, I… er… I ended up in the…" Sherlock began as they broke the hug.

"It's okay; just… er… go take a shower." John interrupted as he slowly backed away from Sherlock as he allowed his hand to linger on Sherlock's shoulder before he drew back completely, he really didn't want to know. Sherlock then nodded and quickly spun on his heel, returning to the washroom and closing the door behind him.

The fact that John thought Sherlock was amazing for more than his intellect and that he considered him to be a part of his family was all that ran through the genius's mind while he showered.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites! I really appreciate them. Just fyi (because I'm not sure if I can work it into the story) for this particular story I have the head canon that Sherlock always wanted to be a father since he was really little, but that Mycroft told him pirates don't make good fathers. (I noticed an error in this chapter, I fixed it though)


	7. Chapter 7: Moran

Chapter 7: Moran

A deep, heavy sigh thick with thought filled the air. The room was otherwise filled with empty sound. An eloquent silence laying over the only two occupants in the room. Moriarty was sitting in a very comfortable, decadent seat and he ran his fingers gently over the soft fabric as Moran stood silently in front of him, hands folded together over his lap. Moriarty glanced up at Moran and allowed a wide smile to play over his face, edging its way to his brown eyes that glimmered in the dim light. "I need to speak to Aggy." He hummed out.

"She is incommunicado at the moment, sir."

"Oh well that's just lovely, isn't it? That's just lovely for her. How nice it is to have a vacation. So nice. Wish I could have a vacation. But that wouldn't do at all, would it?" Moriarty rambled as he allowed his head to lull from side to side, his fingers still grazing along the soft fabric of the chair. He looked back up to Moran who stood calmly in front of him. He then stood very abruptly then began to shout, "Bring her back! **Vacation time is over!**"

"Sir, you know as well as I do that she's not on vacation, but she's on a very important mission." Moran calmly reminded his employer.

Moriarty sat back in his seat, "Send someone else to do it. I don't care who. Preferably someone expendable, send Markus and Randall. They'll do the job just fine." Despite having a vast web full of people he didn't care of, Moriarty knew the names of each and every one of his employees.

"The point of sending _Aggy_ on this particular mission was because she can keep it under wraps. I can't say the same for either Markus or Randall."

"So we'll have them killed after they complete the mission! What does it matter? Just _do_ it." He practically sung as he waved his hands in front of his face in a shooing manner, his face growing serious. "Get it done. Get it done now. I need Aggy for… for an errand." A malevolent smile spread itself across Moriarty's face and he watched as Moran turned from him and took his leave.

Moran stepped out of the door and allowed himself to widen his eyes momentarily in aggravation. It was going to be very difficult to call Aggy back, and to organize Markus and Randall. Despite being slightly unreliable in the keeping of secrets, they're not exactly dumb. It would take a fair bit of consideration to find a way to do this without them suspecting, or escaping. Moran decided it would probably be best for him to do that specific part of the job himself.

"Moran!" His name was being called, he allowed himself a quick roll of his eyes before he re-entered the room in which his employer was currently sitting- or not sitting, as he noted once he opened the door. Moriarty was standing directly in front of the door, gazing at him intently. "Moran, I don't like it when you get annoyed with me. Don't do that."

Moran fought the urge to say something stupid, being too sarcastic was not a good idea with this employer, instead he simply stated, "I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again, sir."

Moriarty smiled a devilish smile then reached his arm around Moran's middle section, barely managing to grasp at his farthest arm, "Moran, do you know how these past two and a half years have been?"

"I would imagine that they'd been quite boring, sir."

"Boring! So boring!" Moriarty's voice was high and melodic as he drew Moran closer to him, "They've been _so_ boring! So boring without my Sherlock to _**really**_ play with. He had my web, or what he thought to be it, and he had his return, the terrorist plot. But what did I have? What did **I** have?"

Moran just stood and listened as Moriarty proceeded to maintain the physical contact he had established.

"Nothing." Moriarty removed both hands from Moran as he made a sort of disappearing gesture with them, then replacing them on his arms Moriarty continued, "Absolutely nothing. But I don't have nothing now. I have Sherlock again, and his _dear doctor_." His voice grew dark with nothing but pure loathing, "and that silly man has thought it a good idea to go and reproduce." Moriarty walked across the room, away from Moran who barely managed to keep the scowl from his face before Moriarty turned back to him, "With little Mrs. Mary Morstan of all people. Such a shame how she just _had_ to die." Moriarty made an 'oh well' face then sat back in his seat, "We're going to have a lot of fun, Moran. Fetch me my computer." He said as he made a subtle 'give-me-give-me' gesture with his hands. Moran picked up the computer from the small table that was right next to where Moriarty sat and handed him the thin lap top.

"Will that be all, sir?"

Moriarty didn't respond as his full attention had been turned to the lap top. Moran nodded and showed himself out of the room. He walked down the hallway and made his way through the building, eventually exiting it he walked across the car park where he found his car. He had been deep in thought, considering how he was to call Aggy back, how he was going to dispatch of Markus and Randall that he almost didn't notice he was being watched. He wasn't sure _who_ per se was watching him, he just knew that he _was_ in fact, being watched. Moran's shoulders sagged for a moment as he sighed and rolled his eyes, he wished he could just take his gun out and deal with all these little annoying problems quickly, without tact. But he knew that would bring him nowhere, so he just had to deal with everyone's bull shit. At least for now.

It didn't take him long to shake his tail loose, a black town car. Mycroft? Was he still trying to buy his services? Moran was temporarily entertained by the notion, shouldn't Mycroft have learned by now? He wasn't going to just leave his current position for the highest bidder, which would have to be pretty high. He had worked to get where he is now, and that should count for something. Not to mention, he really did enjoy his work, and possibly even his mad employer. All though this obsession with Sherlock was clearly not leading anywhere good for anyone, Moran included. He found himself momentarily wondering what Mycroft's new deal would have been and for a moment almost scolded himself for losing the tail.

He didn't want to work for the government though, at least he and the people he worked with knew that they were ass wholes; so many people in the government were and didn't even realize it, or at least they wouldn't acknowledge it. Before he realized it, in his contemplative mood, he had driven himself to 221B Baker Street. Moran made an indifferent frown, shrugged then got out of his car and crossed the street to knock on the door of 221B Baker Street.

An older woman wearing a conservative purple dress answered the door with a wide smile lighting up her face. "Hello dear, are you looking for Sherlock?" Moran shook his head and the elderly woman continued, a little more confused, "What are you here for, dear?"

"I'm here for John, John Watson? I heard he was back living here, and I found myself in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop by for a visit." He shrugged to drive home the point that this visit had not been planned.

The woman smiled, "Oh! John! He'll be so happy you stopped by! I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way," She stretched her hand out to shake his, which he accepted.

"Sebastian Moran, I was in the army, I served with John on a few occasions." He allowed himself a genuine laugh, "That seems like it was ages ago." So much had happened since then.

"Come on up dear, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you."

* * *

Sherlock had been bouncing Isabella on his knee when a very large man entered the door, escorted by Mrs. Hudson. He practically dwarfed her, he was over 6 foot 3 and was of a muscular, sturdy build. Though he couldn't see most of it, Sherlock could tell the man hid a rather large and very impressive tiger tattoo beneath his right shirt sleeve. Both sleeves were rolled up to just above the elbows and Sherlock could see just the tip of an orange and black tail over a blue background that swirled with various shades of green.

"Where's John?" Mrs. Hudson inquired.

Sherlock didn't respond, simply stared at the tall man standing in the doorway. Fortunately, John looked around the corner from the kitchen then his face lit up with surprised delight. "Sebastian?" he rounded the corner and stood straight, leaning back slightly with his head angled slightly to the side, taking in the grand sight that is Sebastian Moran.

Moran nodded, "John! It's been an age!" he pulled John into an unexpected bear hug which lasted only a few seconds, which from Sherlock's perspective was far too long. Sherlock noted how John seemed so small in Moran's grasp. Clearly Sherlock was a better fit for hugging John than this _Sebastian _character.

Sherlock stood from his seat, carefully cradling Isabella in one arm, held out his hand and introduced himself, "Sherlock Holmes." His voice was flat and thoroughly unimpressed, as if to say, how dare you touch _my_ John.

Sebastian took Sherlock's hand without hesitation and shook it firmly, "Sebastian Moran. I knew John back when we were in the army. I was in a different division, but we still saw a bit each other."

This Moran character was all smiles and unhesitant physical contact, everything about him exuded confidence. Sherlock didn't like him and he subconsciously shielded Isabella from this strange man's presence.

Moran returned his attention to John, "I was just in the neighborhood driving home from an errand I had to run when I remembered from your blog that you're back living here and I thought I'd stop by while you were on my mind."

"You read my blog?"

"Yea, it's fantastic stuff!" Moran smiled, his eyes lighting up with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm, "that's how I heard about your wife, I'm so sorry mate, and about your new daughter!" He gestured at the little girl in Sherlock's arms, "She's yours?"

"It's unlikely that _both_ John and I have relatively new born babies." Sherlock scoffed causing John and Mrs. Hudson to give him a silent reprimand.

"Oh, well if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

"Yeah? Well thank you, I'll keep that in mind." John seemed impressed. Sherlock did not like this.

A few moments of silence passed and Sherlock looked from one man to the other. Mrs. Hudson was the first to break the silence, "Anyone want a cuppa?"

Moran smiled.

"You always did prefer the stronger stuff."

"Yeah, I'm not much of a tea man."

"Sherlock, do we have any-"

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to ask-"

"Yes I do."

Sherlock and John stared at each other for a while, and entire argument taking place through their eye contact.

"Fine, well," John turned back to Moran, "sorry I can't offer you anything else to drink. We've been kind of busy lately so the shopping has suffered a little bit."

"That's fine, I didn't' expect to come over for a party. I just wanted to say hi, and maybe meet little Isabella." Moran then turned his attention Isabella who looked up at him from Sherlock's arms with wide, curious eyes, a big smile and a small giggle.

"I would say that your objective has been successful then." Sherlock said coldly.

Moran straightened his posture with a slightly angry, very offended expression covering his face. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I supposed to leave now?"

"You can if you want." Sherlock said indifferently as he returned to his seat.

Moran looked over to John, the insult still apparent on his face, "John?"

John, standing military straight, stepped forward and looked down at Sherlock, "Sherlock. This is my friend, an old army buddy. Don't be so rude to him."

"He's clearly not that close to you if he hasn't been in contact since seeing you in the army."

John looked almost as if he were about to murder Sherlock, "Sherlock, you need to apologize to Sebastian right. Now."

Sherlock looked up at his friend and flat mate then decided it would be best to do as told in this situation, "I am sorry that I was rude." He said, turning his head to face Moran, but never taking his eyes off John. John's body language immediately eased up slightly in response.

"That's okay, I do have to go though. Perhaps I'll talk to you later, John?" Moran sounded much less offended, but still spoke in an assertive tone, breaking into John and Sherlock's thoughts.

John looked away from Sherlock as he spoke to Moran, "Yea, that'd be great. It was great to see you. I'll walk you down." Sherlock did not look away from John even as he walked out of sight.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson stating, "You really need to be nicer to John's friends, if you two are going to work out."

Sherlock managed to suppress a smile and keep his face indifferent as Mrs. Hudson went to return to her flat.

* * *

Moran was almost out of the building when John apologized on behalf of Sherlock, again, "Sorry about… about Sherlock… he's just not very good with people."

"Its fine, I'm sure he means for the best. Which is one nice thing. I'll know he's got your back when push comes to shove."

"Yea, he is pretty good. I know I can always rely on him… for the important things."

"And that's what will count." Moran said offhandedly as he walked out and onto the street, disappearing into the rush hour pedestrian traffic. John furrowed his brow slightly and pursed his lips at the seemingly innocent comment. What did he mean by that? Probably just another couple comment, but it still struck John as being odd and slightly out of place. He shrugged it off, and returned upstairs.

* * *

Moran decided to take a very indirect rout to his car, he wanted some time to think. He couldn't help but wish that John had never gotten together with Sherlock; never gotten between Sherlock and Moriarty. Things would be better for everyone, or at least, they'd be much less destructive.

* * *

A/N: Have a good weekend everyone! I probably won't be updating until Monday. Hope you're enjoying and thanks everyone for the follows, favorites, and reviews! :)


	8. Chapter 8: Concussion

Chapter 8: Concussion

John held Sherlock's waist with his left hand and with his right hand he held Sherlock's right. Sherlock's arm was over John's shoulder and he was slouching as they slowly trudged up the stairs to 221B, Baker Street. It took most of John's considerable strength to support the tall, concussed genius, it didn't help that Sherlock kept getting irrationally irritated at his own incapacitation and would try to walk without the support of John only to fall, or would try to look at his feet in anger at their uncooperative behavior. Sherlock's feet were very reluctantly climbing the stairs with him; it seemed an impossible feat to lift his legs enough to climb the insurmountable stairs. _Damn stairs._ John was almost tempted to clog him on the head again and drag him up the stairs, but that wouldn't be of much help and it would probably be extremely detrimental to Sherlock in the long run.

"Remind me again why we couldn't go to the hospital?"

"JOHN!" The name was more of a lisped shout than anything else.

"Fine, fine, whatever, it's _your_ precious head." For someone who values his intellect so much, Sherlock really likes to take risks with it.

Sherlock simply looked up at John with narrowed, bleary eyes, "What?" Aggravation was evident in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing Sherlock, just... let's get you upstairs." John again started to lift Sherlock up the stairs.

"What's all this noise?" Mrs. Hudson stood on the other side of the staircase railing, her head was about the height of their knees, she looked up at them with concern written all over her features. "You two aren't drunk again, are you?" She allowed herself a small smile as she remembered the stag night.

"No. No Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's just got a bit of a concussion."

"Oh dear! What happened?"

"He got kicked in the head."

Shocked concern flitted across her features, "Oh my, well let me know if you need anything."

John nodded as he recommenced bringing Sherlock up the stairs and Mrs. Hudson departed into her flat. After a few more minutes of John trying to practically carry Sherlock up the stairs, and Sherlock moaning like an annoyed five year old, John finally got Sherlock into their flat and sat him down in his favorite chair.

"Woo hoo?" Mrs. Hudson peeked her head through the door, John turned his attention to her; "Do you want me to bring Isabella up? I could watch her for the rest of the night if you'd like. Seeing how Sherlock's…" she waved at the irritated man sitting in the chair and slightly grimaced.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned back farther in his seat, allowing his head to flop back accentuating his long, pale neck. John couldn't help but notice. He stared at Sherlock who was practically stewing in his own aggravation then turned back to Mrs. Hudson, "It should be fine, Mrs. Hudson, I think he'll probably just sit there for the rest of the night. The hard part's done." He gestured at the stairs with his head and allowed himself the one joke as Sherlock would ultimately be fine. He always would be fine. "Is she up?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded and John went with her to collect his daughter and bring her back upstairs with him.

John returned upstairs, baby Isabella in his arms, to find Sherlock very intently watching him. Sherlock's gaze was almost predatory, following him as he moved around the room. John dismissed it to 1) Sherlock was generally intense, 2) with a concussion his vision's probably a little which would account for the additional intensity of Sherlock's gaze. John sat down on the couch and began to bounce Isabella on his knee, she responded with smiles and giggles and flapping her arms up and down.

"Mm- come closerrrr" Sherlock leaned towards John as he spoke.

John stood from the couch and moved to sit in his chair instead.

Sherlock hummed his approval at the move, "hmm, thank youu."

John simply shrugged and momentarily pursed his lips as he began bouncing Isabella again.

Sherlock laid his head back against the seat again, but kept his eyes on John and Isabella. John met Sherlock's eyes and again he could see an entire universe of possibilities in those eyes. Stormy eyes hazily gazing back up at him, John had to look away, he returned his attention to Isabella and allowed a smile to play on his lips as he bounced her up and down. Her bed time would be soon, he'd have to put her to bed and even though she never contributed to the conversation, John was nervous to be alone with Sherlock tonight.

Sherlock looked… well, he looked predatory, but that wasn't all… he also looked… vulnerable? John had a hard enough time dealing with his own emotions, he didn't really want to deal with any emotions Sherlock might be having right now.

"It's almost her bed time, isn't it?"

John smiled, "I didn't think you'd remember that right now with your concussion."

A deep chuckle escaped Sherlock's lips, "I'm not that injured."

John nodded; he was actually pretty relieved by that. "I should probably go put her to bed soon." John went to stand but Sherlock very dramatically shook his head.

"No. Don't go."

John furrowed his brow, but sat down none the less. "Erm, okay?"

"Tell her about our adventure tonight. Like you write on your blog. She'll probably…" a deep sigh, almost a yawn, "probably fall right asleep to that." A large grin grew across Sherlock's face as he waited for John's reaction.

A small laugh, "You'll probably fall asleep too, and we can't have that with your concussion."

"True." Sherlock considered this for a moment, "I'll tell her the story," he leaned forward in his seat again, knees gently brushing against John's as Isabella laughed, "it'll be a good memory exorcise in my condition."

"Er, okay." John felt torn between shifting closer to Sherlock and removing his knee from the contact he was currently making with the brilliant concussed man.

Sherlock smiled widely and proceeded to recount the story of how earlier that night they had followed a jewel thief to what was supposed to be a rendezvous with Moriarty's top right hand man but how when they got there the jewel thief was shot in th- John then scolded Sherlock for being too graphic for Isabella, and Sherlock apologized- was murdered –another scolding expression from John and a scoff from Sherlock as he continued- how the thief was murdered in front of them and how they then had to flee the perpetrators and ended up catching one of them off guard, how there was a struggle which eventually lead to Sherlock and this masked gunman on the ground, struggling to gain their footing and capture the other, and the gunman kicking Sherlock in the face and escaping. Isabella slowly drifted off into her nightly slumbers and after Sherlock had finished recounting their evening's escapades John stood to put Isabella in her crib.

"No." Sherlock practically commanded.

"W-what?"

"Don't go."

"But Isabella-"

"-Can sleep safely in your arms for a short while, at least."

John hovered halfway between sitting and standing as he stared at the concussed genius. Sherlock scoffed, rolled his eyes and continued, "Please, John."

John then committed to sitting and simply looked across at Sherlock with a completely baffled expression on his face. They both just sat there for a while, staring at each other, Isabella asleep in John's arms. John broke the silence first, "Sherlock?"

"Mmm?" Sherlock's hands were folded around his knees and his head lazily leaned against the back of his seat.

John didn't actually know what he had intended to say, all thought seemed to abandon him that moment. He managed to find something to say, "You look like you're going to fall asleep."

A large smile grew across Sherlock's face as he spoke, "Don't worry, Doctor Watson, I'm fine."

"Still, you should at least sit up properly."

Sherlock, head still against the back of the chair, face directed at the ceiling looked down at John through droopy eyelids, "hm, I am starting to feel quite tired. Perhaps you're right." Sherlock straightened up in his seat, and then grasped his violin which was sitting just within arm's reach.

"Sherlock, you'll wake Isabella."

"No."

Sherlock gently plucked at the strings of the violin, playing a soft sort of lullaby that gently filled the air of the flat. John couldn't place it, he rarely ever could. It was probably something Sherlock had composed; it had a familiar sort of… romantic sadness… that John generally associated with the genius's compositions. He had a hard time understanding how someone who seemed so cold and calculated could create such emotional music, but then he supposed Sherlock was probably much like those eyes of his; entire universes of possibilities, full of complexities that John would never understand, would never get a chance to understand.

"I've always been curious as to the effect on cognitive development music has during sleep." Sherlock's voice was barely more of a murmur, but still managed to intrude full force into John's thoughts.

"This better not be another one of your proposed experiments." A small smile wrought itself upon John's lips.

Sherlock scoffed, "Please, John. There are absolutely no positive negative side effects to having music played during ones sleep. It is completely safe."

"That doesn't matter, I said no experiments." John almost chuckled as he looked from Sherlock plucking at his violin to a sleeping Isabella in his arms. John decided it was time to put her in her crib and stood.

"Where are you going?"

"Guess."

"Putting Isabella to bed?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to come back after you put her in her crib?"

"I don't know…" John paused as he thought about it for a second, looking around the room then back to the genius that sat in his chair holding his violin, "I was thinking of going to bed, I'm pretty tired."

Sherlock mocked a scoff and teased, "What kind of a doctor are you? Leaving your patient when he needs you? Shame on you, Doctor Watson." A large smile lightened Sherlock's features as he spoke.

John rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the slightest of smiles from appearing on his face, "fine. I'll put Isabella to sleep then I'll be back down to keep an eye on you."

"Thank you."

John glanced back one more time before he went up the stairs, brow furrowed as he replayed the 'Thank you' that had filled the air just moments before. It sounded not only genuine, but… John couldn't quite place it. He put Isabella down in her crib then returned downstairs. Sherlock was standing by the window, "You can stand on your own now, I see."

Sherlock hummed in agreement but rolled his eyes all the same, really, why did John _always_ insist on stating the obvious. Sherlock didn't know whether he found that more bothersome, or the fact that he didn't _really_ mind _that_ much to be more bothersome. Then he remembered the violin was still in his hand and deciding that a distraction would be useful, began to pluck at the strings again.

John smiled as he listened to the sound of the violin fill the air, thoughts of Isabella and Sherlock danced in his head. Sherlock was so good with her. Sherlock was so full of surprised. John's smile widened as he thought of when Sherlock first had to babysit and how nervous he was.

Sherlock looked over to his smiling friend and narrowed his eyes, why was he smiling?

Just then John noticed the music stopped and looked up at his friend and flat mate standing, well practically standing over him with narrowed eyes. "Sherlock?"

"Why are you smiling?" Sherlock questioned.

"What? Am I not allowed to smile now?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little more then abruptly turned and returned to the window. John flat out laughed now, barely managing to keep the volume down so as to not wake Isabella upstairs. Sherlock turned back to him, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed and the slightest trace of a frown on that usually so indifferent face as he stared at John. "What, what now? What's so funny?"

"Why do you care so much about what's going on in my head?" John managed to say through his laughter.

Sherlock grew very serious and John's laughter died down quite quickly.

"Why do you think, John?"

"Erm…" John was going to give this thought; Sherlock rarely ever asked rhetorical questions. He allowed his mind to swirl around but it just went in circles. No actual thoughts or possibilities came to mind; he looked up at Sherlock and into those eyes full of possibilities. Maybe if he looked into those eyes for long enough he could pull out the answer? No, he didn't think so, instead he cleared his throat looked away from his flat mate and continued, "I don't know." He didn't look back at Sherlock, he didn't know if he could ever look back at him ever again; the atmosphere had suddenly grown thick with… John didn't exactly know what, or maybe he just didn't want to acknowledge what the air was suddenly filled with.

Sherlock sighed as he turned back to the window, "As ever you see, but do not observe."

In an instant John was looking back up at Sherlock, "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock gazed out the window as he once again began plucking at his violin.

"No. Seriously, Sherlock, observe what? What don't I observe?"

"That is a conclusion you must come to on your own, I have already given you all the assistance you should require. Now I'll leave you to your deductions" Sherlock continued to play his violin as he became lost in thought, gazing out the window.

John continued to ask a few questions, what do you mean by that? What's going on? Sherlock? It didn't take _too_ many questions before he realized that Sherlock was no longer listening. John stared at Sherlock who was gazing out the window with nothing filling the air except for short staccato notes plucked across violin strings. Sherlock was actually in his mind palace, within the wing whose existence he would deny should anyone ask. John decided that he was no longer needed here and stood up from his seat.

"No." Sherlock's baritone stopped John from standing.

"What?"

"No."

"Again? Sherlock, you'll be _fine_, you've got your violin, you're not exactly known for sleeping and you haven't been paying attention to me for the past… fifteen minutes? I'm going to bed. You don't need me." John stood and started walking towards the stairs that lead to his room.

"You're wrong."

John rolled his eyes and turned to Sherlock who was now much closer than John had remembered, and facing him. "What exactly am I wrong about? You're not even talking to me." John found himself instinctively standing up straighter, and was caught completely off guard when suddenly he was being embraced by **Sherlock. Bloody Holmes. **SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS HUGGING HIM, John's mind was spinning and it took a second before he started hugging back.

Sherlock muttered over John's shoulder, "I don't have to speak to you to enjoy your company." Was that a compliment? Did Sherlock Holmes just complement him, did that really just happen?

The hug was over and John looked up at his friend and said, "Jesus, how hard _**did**_ you hit your head?" Sherlock simply smiled a sad sort of smile as he took an extra step back. John looked at his friend, really looked at his friend, his pupils were dilated, but the dilation was evenly distributed across both pupils, so he found it unlikely that it was due to the concussion, but what was it f-oh.

John had to look away, Sherlock did the same. They both didn't quite know what to do at this point. Sherlock scowled at himself. John hugging him had gone over much better than this; perhaps he had done something different? He wondered what precise part of the hug he had gotten wrong and decided he would have to do some research. John simply rubbed his legs with the palms of his hands then announced that he was going upstairs… to… check on Isabella. This time Sherlock didn't argue and let John leave without further question. John did not come back down that night and Sherlock turned his attention to the computer to commence his research.

* * *

A/N: I wrote the word "yawn" once up there, and now I can't stop yawning! gah!... anyway, hope you all had an excellent weekend :) thanks again for all the reviews, follows and favourites! Also, just in general thanks for reading, I appreciate it. :)


	9. Chapter 9: Bees

Chapter 9: Bees

John came downstairs the next morning to find Sherlock looking intently at the computer screen that was currently sitting on his lap. John didn't want to disturb his thoughts, or… have to deal with the awkward situation currently looming over the entirety of 221B Baker Street; so instead he went directly to the kitchen where he made himself some toast. Deciding to skip his morning shower, even though he desperately needed one, he decided to go for a bit of a walk before heading for work. "Isabella will be up in about an hour, you'll watch her today?" John called as he was practically out the door.

As he watched his friend flee their flat, Sherlock sighed, "Of course I will." He was really starting to regret his decision to hug John last night. In all seriousness he should have known better, he scolded himself, intimacy never suited him- that's why he let John go off with Mary, in the hopes that they'd have the happily ever after that Sherlock never could. Was John going to leave Baker Street now? Sherlock found himself frowning deeply at the idea, such a despicable notion. He immediately tried to delete it, but all things regarding John had a way of backing themselves up in unexpected parts of his mind palace.

* * *

John stepped out onto the street to find Greg Lestrade nearly knocking into his chest. Both men were caught by surprise and took half a step back from each other. "Er, hey." Lestrade smiled, still quite embarrassed at almost knocking on John, as he shoved his hands into his pockets, "How's… how's Sherlock?"

John furrowed his brow slightly as he looked Greg once over, "He's fine. It was only a mild concussion," John looked up and down the street to see if it was just Greg, "He was on the computer when I last saw him."

"Oh. Good, I'm not catching you at a bad time am I? I thought you didn't work for another hour?"

"Ah, no, not a bad time, and yes, yea I work in about an hour. But I thought I'd go for a bit of a walk." John tried his best for a friendly smile, he really didn't want to be talking to Greg right now, and as nice as he is John just needed some time to think, preferably alone.

"All right, I'd join you, but I actually came to talk to Sherlock."

John smiled, of course he did; John already knew that. "Yea, go on up, he's just sitting on his computer."

John went to walk away, but was called back when he heard Greg say, "John?"

"Yea?"

"You okay?" Greg looked utterly sympathetic as he asked the question. It seemed like a very loaded question. John looked to the side slightly, smiled and nodded. "Okay. Just thought I'd check. You looked pretty shaken up last night… you know… when Sherlock got hit." Still with that sympathetic look, John couldn't help but straighten up, clench his fists at his sides and nod as he did his best to smile. Greg nodded in return and made his way into Baker Street. John began his walk in the general direction of his work; he had a lot of time and it wasn't far so he wasn't exactly in a rush.

* * *

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called as ran up the stairs. Reaching the top, Lestrade turned to find a very sulking Sherlock flopped on the couch with his back to the rest of the flat. Lestrade momentarily stopped, awkwardly wondering how to proceed- or even whether or not he should even proceed- eventually he decided to attempt to gain the genius's attention. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to find Lestrade standing near the entrance to the flat, awkwardly watching him as he turned over and stood. Sherlock looked Lestrade up and down, giving him a good once over and finally concluding that he doesn't have a case for him. Why was he here then? Perhaps he came to just talk. The thought struck Sherlock as being very odd, but then again, he had called on Lestrade before to help him in personal matters… his best man's speech. Sherlock supposed he would allow Lestrade this…session… of conversation? Whatever this is supposed to be.

"How are you?" Lestrade began; well that's just the worst possible start. Dull, expected, what is the point of beginning like that, Sherlock would obviously answer 'good, you?' he'd say he was fine and then the conversation would be at a standstill again.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, "are you really here _just_ to ask me how I am?" he raised a single eyebrow as he took a step towards the DI.

"Ah- no. I actually wanted to know how you and John are doing, is everything back to… as it was?" Lestrade was very hesitant, "you know… before?"

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows, "I suppose that depends on exactly how things were?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Look, Sherlock, I know you don't exactly think I'm the smarted person in the world," Lestrade gave Sherlock a stern look in response to Sherlock's smug grin before he continued, "but I can see what goes on between you and John. Things have been… well, they've been off since you came back." Lestrade trailed off for a moment as he thought back to John practically fleeing the flat, "And just now John seemed like he was running out of a burning building. Did something happen last night?" Sherlock gave him a scolding expression, Lestrade back tracked, "well last night everything seemed back to normal, and I couldn't help but wonder if…" Lestrade began to avert his eyes from Sherlock, unsure of his words. "If things are like they used to be, I mean, last night it certainly seemed like it might be… or at least you guys are almost back… together… again." Sherlock definitely had to give Lestrade his due credit, entire dimensions of John and Sherlock's relationship always went unsaid, in subtle gestures that even the two men involved often had difficulties picking up, and here Lestrade was, despite his slight blundering, he just _knew_.

Sherlock considered what Lestrade had said for a few moments, then with a stiff posture, crossed the room to stand directly in front of Lestrade and awkwardly hugged him.

"Are you okay?" Lestrade sounded very surprised and slightly concerned as he went to skeptically return the hug, but before Lestrade's hands met Sherlock's back Sherlock backed out of it.

"What am I doing wrong?" Sherlock said through his mask of indifference. He would look at this problem from a scientific perspective, it's the only way he could.

Lestrade seemed almost amused, but completely baffled, "Pardon?"

"Everyone else seems perfectly capable of giving a successful hug, I, however, cannot. Everyone seems to respond by thinking there's something wrong with me. I see no difference in my technique than anyone else's." Sherlock had begun to pace and turned abruptly to a stop as he faced Lestrade, waiting for an answer. Hopefully he would receive a decent answer, not some gibberish that wouldn't be entirely out of place coming from Lestrade.

Lestrade was genuinely smiling now; looking at Sherlock in disbelief he managed a response, "Did you try to hug John last night? Is that what that was about?" Sherlock scowled at Lestrade, clearly not the desired answer, "It's not that you're doing anything _wrong_, Sherlock. It's more so just the fact that you **never** hug people. It just seems out of place." Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock glared at Lestrade for a considerable few moments, his hands akimbo on his hips. Lestrade took half a step back and shrugged again, "it's not my fault, Sherlock, you just don't seem like a super touchy guy. If you're going to just start hugging people, it's going to weird people out… at least at first anyway."

Sherlock went to say something, _it's not people, just john, _but stopped himself and simply nodded in response, a slight frown edging its way onto his lips.

Lestrade smiled sympathetically, "I got to go though. I just wanted to check up make sure you were okay, with John and you know, the concussion."

Sherlock nodded, flat out pouting now.

Lestrade stared at Sherlock a few moments in slight amusement but also a little concerned that if he were to go unattended for too long he'd just fall to dust, then pursed his lips and left 221B Baker Street.

Mrs. Hudson entered the flat with a cooing "woo hoo?" as she bared a tea tray for the flat. Mrs. Hudson had gotten into the habit of having morning tea with Sherlock and Isabella, well Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson had tea, Isabella had baby formula. Sherlock heaved a deep sigh then crossed the flat to give Mrs. Hudson a hug after she had placed the tea tray on the paper covered table, "Oh my, someone's feeling affectionate today. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing. Just an experiment." Sherlock said in an utterly indifferent tone and sat in his seat, secretly pleased that the reactions elicited seemed to be improving with each hug.

Mrs. Hudson smiled that knowing smile as she poured the tea, a small stuffed bumblebee about the size of a fist sat on the tray, Sherlock eyed it and Mrs. Hudson informed him, "Oh, that's for Isabella, dear. I thought she might like it since I know how much she likes you reading to her about bees." A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she handed Sherlock his tea and sat down in John's chair. "Is she up yet? I can't wait to give it to her."

* * *

At work John was having difficulty focusing on the patients. He did his job adequately as he would any other day, he would never allow himself to give sub-par care to **anyone**, but his head was just elsewhere. He couldn't help but think of Sherlock. Was the hug last night the go ahead sign? Was Sherlock telling John that he was available, no longer married to the work? John smiled at the thought, he really did hope so.

John returned home from work that night determined to test the waters of their relationship. Unfortunately, Sherlock was determined to back track, thinking he had made a mistake. John walked into the flat and saw Sherlock sitting in his usual seat, reading Isabella to sleep. John smiled and sat in his usual seat, quietly listening to the sound of Sherlock reading his daughter to sleep. Once Sherlock had finished his reading for the night John spoke up, "Thanks for looking after her while I'm at work."

Sherlock gave an impassive shrug as he took Isabella up to her crib to sleep. John watched as Sherlock came back down the stairs and re-took his seat. They sat in each other's silence for a while, sharing fleeting gazes.

John leaned forward in his seat and looked up at Sherlock, "Look, Sherlock, I want to talk to you about last-"

"Yes… Sorry about that. I've been alerted that it's strange for me to hug people… it won't be happening again, don't worry." He supposed it was better to be safe than sorry, in matters of John.

John was slightly crestfallen at this, he nodded a moment then pursed his lips as he looked back up at Sherlock, "It's only strange because you never do it."

Sherlock furrowed his brows, narrowed his eyes and looked at John closely, why did he _**always**_ insist on stating the obvious, Sherlock had _**just**_ said that, "Yes, John. I am aware which is why I won't be doing it again."

"You can hug people if you want, Sherlock. Well, you can hug _some_ people; I don't think Sally Donovan would appreciate a hug." John smiled as Sherlock scowled at her needless mention, "You just have to allow people to adjust. That's all."

Sherlock continued to look at John through narrowed eyes, the gears of his mind visibly working beneath those dark curls, "so… what you're saying is… you wouldn't mind… being…_ hugged_ by… _me_?" He had to be sure.

John nodded with a thoughtful frown, "Yeah, I don't mind. I just didn't expect it is all." John leaned back in his seat his knees spread in a casual manner. Sherlock looked John up and down, John didn't notice, Sherlock allowed a large smile to flit across his features. John raised his eyebrows minutely, looked to the side then back to Sherlock. A dark chuckle rumbled in the genius's throat. "What?" John looked completely baffled.

_Oh nothing, just wondering what else you wouldn't mind._ Sherlock kept that thought to himself. As he looked his flat mate over he found his thoughts turning oddly sexual. He couldn't keep the smile from curling the edges of his lips as he had to look away, embarrassing thoughts filling his mind that secretly pleased him. He didn't know if he couldn't get rid of the thoughts, or if he just didn't want to. John was still looking at him quizzically. He decided then that he would have to slowly get John used to more physical contact so if and when Sherlock finally decided to make a move it wouldn't catch him _too_ much by surprise; or perhaps John would take the hint and make a move, Sherlock found himself preferring the latter. He secretly liked it when John got dominant.

"Seriously, Sherlock, what's so funny?" John's voice broke through Sherlock's thoughts, through his fantasies.

"Oh, what?"

"You're not even paying attention to me anymore, are you?"

"Erm. No."

"Well what were you thinking about then?"

"Bees!" Sherlock abruptly stood and turned to his computer, typing furiously without bothering to sit down in the computer chair as John sat and stared in utter confusion.

"What about bees?" John kept his voice level and calm.

"Buying them."

"What?!" Some alarm showed in his voice.

"Buying them, John, you _really_ should listen better." Sherlock teased, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Okay, but **why** are you buying bees?"

"Isabella likes-"

"No, Sherlock, you like them."

"Yes, but so does she."

John rolled his eyes, "but what if she gets stung?!"

"She won't."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock turned from his computer screen to face John and gave him that condescending look that says _really? I'm the great Sherlock Holmes, I know everything._

John sighed, "Fine." Then, pointing at Sherlock, giving him a stern look said, "but the moment she gets stung, they're out. Okay?"

Sherlock nodded and almost hopped before returning his attention to the computer.

John gazed at the genius stooped, attentive at the computer screen for a few moments. He had a good view of Sherlock's bum from here, speaking of; this talk hadn't really gone as he had hoped it would. Then again, nothing involving Sherlock exactly went as one would hope. Still, it hadn't gone terribly. John figured he'd take whatever victories he could get.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, clicking favourite, follow, and for reviewing :P Hope you're all enjoying :) They're getting bees! ... ugh, going through all the chapters with Lestrade in them so I can add the e at the end of his name (I kept missing it) and wow, I use his name a lot whenever he shows up!


	10. Chapter 10: Sick day

Chapter 10: Sick day

John sat at work as his stomach slowly began to churn uncomfortably. He felt his forehead, he was getting sick and needed to go home so as to not risk getting some of his patients sick; he asked one of the other doctors in the clinic if she'd mind covering his appointments for the day and after he informed the secretary he made his way home. He slowly walked up the stairs to 221B, carefully as he didn't want to further upset his unsettled stomach. As he opened the door to the flat he walked in on Sherlock wearing his black neck tie like an eye patch, a cut off broom handle in his hand, kicking the air and screaming "Arrr, You'll never catch me alive!" in a pirate-y voice as Isabella wiggled around in John's seat laughing. John stopped dead in his tracks, he felt as though his smile would split his face in two, but he couldn't control it. Sherlock turned to find John standing in the doorway and immediately straightened his posture, pulled the tie down off his face so it hung at his neck; his mouth hung agape, embarrassment evident as he struggled to find words. Sherlock looked like a deer caught in head lights.

John couldn't help but laugh, Sherlock took the slightest step back. John looked at Sherlock, he almost seemed insecure. "So this is the infamous game of pirates I keep hearing about from Mrs. Hudson?"

Sherlock scowled slightly.

"I'd ask if I could play, but I'm a bit under the weather, mind keeping it down a bit?" John did his best to smile a supportive smile to let Sherlock know there was nothing to be embarrassed about, John found the whole thing rather endearing.

"You're sick?" Sherlock moved closer to John, embarrassment forgotten as he placed the back of his hand to John's forehead.

John laughed slightly as he removed Sherlock's hand from his forehead, "Sherlock, I'm fine. I just need to get some rest. Besides, I'm the doctor here, not you." He teased.

Sherlock watched as John went and lay down on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking a nap?"

"Yes, but why on the couch?"

"Because Isabella sleeps upstairs in my room too, and I don't want her to get sick."

Sherlock understood that, "Yes, obviously, but why on the couch?"

"Well, where else am I supposed to sleep?" John was starting to get irritated, headache kicking in.

"Take my room."

John and Sherlock stared at each other for a few moments as Isabella wiggled in her seat, giggling up a storm, "I can't take your room."

Sherlock almost seemed offended, "Why not?"

"Because, Sherlock, because," John was definitely stalling, "it's messy."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "The entire flat is messy John. I hardly see why that matters. Besides, my room is definitely the tidiest."

John almost laughed as he desperately thought up as many excuses as he could, "I can't sleep in your bed though; I could get you sick too!"

Sherlock scoffed, "Oh please, I hardly sleep anyway. Just use my room until you're feeling better and I can get Mrs. Hudson to wash my bedding later."

"You really think Mrs. Hudson will just do your laundry for you?" Sherlock shot him a look that screamed '_really?'_ John could see there was no point in arguing, his headache was too much for him now, he raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, trying to ease some of the pain away. "Okay, fine, fine I'll take your room." Sherlock smiled then bounced off into his room, John followed with a very confused expression on his face.

Sherlock returned from his room holding a long rectangular black box just as John was about to enter, "I'll be needing this later, and I didn't want to have to wake you to fetch it."

"I'm sure you could have gotten in and out of your own room without making too much noise."

"It was under the mattress."

"Oh?" John furrowed his brows as he looked from Sherlock to the bed he was supposed to sleep in, "What else is under the mattress?"

"Nothing of importance." Sherlock guided John into his room and gestured to the bed, "Sleep, feel better. Don't worry about Isabella." Then in an instant Sherlock disappeared from the room and John was left alone in the genius's bed room. John stood awkwardly for a moment, taking in the sights and smells. He had been in Sherlock's room a few times… the last time was **not** a good occasion. Mrs. Hudson had been very good about it, didn't expect him to clear out Sherlock's stuff. He went in the room once in an attempt to help Mrs. Hudson, but had barely breached the threshold when he had to turn and leave, in the end they never did clear out even half his stuff; which in retrospect was a very good thing. Now he stood in the room, and took some time to absorb all the sights and smells that came to him.

The room was actually very clean, and natural light flowed in through the window. This room was considerably nicer than his, and he kind of was excited to sleep in the larger of the two rooms. It smelt very strongly of Sherlock though, it almost bothered him just how much enjoyed the sent. Then John realized, he needed to go up to his room to get his pajamas. With a sigh he walked out of the room and Sherlock stopped him at the end of the hallway, "What are you doing?"

"I need my pajamas."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow then gently pushed John back towards his bedroom, "I'll go get them, you go lay down."

"Sherlock, I'm not a child"

"Go lay down John!" Sherlock spoke over him as he ran up the stairs to John's room.

"You don't even know where they a-"John began to argue, but Sherlock reappeared with John's favorite pair of pajamas in his hands. "Ah, well apparently you do."

Sherlock handed John the pajamas then again lead him to his bedroom, "Go, sleep." Sherlock then closed the door after John had entered the room. Hands akimbo on his hips, Sherlock then turned his attention to Isabella pulling the neck tie back up over his eye, "Well, Bella the Brave, what have yee to say for yerself and your dreadful attempt at a mutiny?" Isabella laughed at Sherlock's best pirate voice.

Awkwardly, in Sherlock's room, John changed into pajamas. He then moved over to the bed, he was almost tempted to check what else was under the mattress but decided that he _really_ didn't want to know, so he hesitantly got under the covers. The pillow smelt very strongly of Sherlock. Since no one was around John inhaled the scent deeply. It wasn't long before John fell asleep.

* * *

John didn't know how long he had slept, but he felt much better, so much so that when he was suddenly being jerked awake by his eccentric flat mate he didn't even mind. "John! John! I know I told you to sleep, but wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

John sighed as he slowly sat up, Sherlock still shaking his shoulders, "what is it?"

"Are you cognitively functioning yet, John? I don't want to have to repeat myself."

"Ugh! Sherlock!" John looked directly at Sherlock, tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows, "Sherlock, what. Is. It."

Sherlock saw a twinkle of murder in John's eyes, he decided that John was probably awake enough to hear what he had to say; "Isabella said her first word." Sherlock was beaming and he ran out of the room, expecting John to follow, which he quickly did.

John, still in his pajamas, entered the living room to find a very unimpressed Mycroft Holmes holding his baby daughter Isabella. Sherlock seemed to read the curious expression on John's face because he leaned close to John and muttered, "I thought it would be funny."

Mycroft scoffed, "yes, how entertaining. Please, Sherlock, let's get back to business."

Sherlock walked over to him while rolling his eyes and kneeled next to Isabella and encouraged her to say it again. John watched as Isabella laughed then announced, "dull." Sherlock looked so proud and John couldn't help but laugh as Mycroft grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, how lovely. Now, back to what _**I**_ was saying, I have information that could lead to Moriarty's right hand man."

"Really?" John was almost excited before Sherlock scoffed and shook his head.

"He doesn't even have his name."

"No, but I do have information on a rendezvous he has with one of their main assassins."

"Dull." Isabella laughed and began to wiggle where she sat on Mycroft's lap and he rolled his eyes as he sighed.

"That's the context in which she used it earlier." Sherlock was beaming, he was so proud. John laughed into his hand, it was pretty great.

"_Sherlock._" Mycroft admonished.

"Well, we already crashed one of those meetings and it just turned out they were just going to kill the thief anyway, not to mention Sherlock ended up getting a concussion." John said as he shrugged, "what makes you think this will be any different?"

"We don't." Mycroft admitted as he tilted his head up in an annoyed, yet still very arrogant gesture, "but at this point we simply _must_ look into every lead."

John crossed his arms and nodded, he then turned to face Sherlock and gave him the 'pay attention' look. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but faced his brother anyway, "Fine, _Mycroft_, we'll look into it. All though with all the King's horses and all the King's men at your disposal, one would really think that you'd be quite capable of looking into the matter."

"Yes, well," another of Mycroft's grimace-smiles, "I really haven't the time with the riots in- well, you don't really need to know about that, very hush-hush."

John and Sherlock shared a look, "Yes, Mycroft we all know you're very powerful." Sherlock scoffed releasing a laugh from John's lips. Sherlock smiled at the reaction.

"But I'm going to go back to sleep, I'm still quite tired; nice to see you Mycroft." John turned back towards Sherlock's room and closed the door after him.

"So John's sleeping in your room now?" Mycroft said with his brows raised, Isabella looking up at him in a sort of awe.

"He's ill and as he shares a room with Isabella, and does not wish to get her sick as well, it only makes sense that he would take my room as I rarely use it." Sherlock stated as he picked Isabella off Mycroft's lap.

Mycroft tentatively rubbed his hands together as though they were dirty and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it; giving Sherlock a smug look as he placed a file on the paper covered coffee table before he stood and left the flat.

Sherlock looked down at Isabella, "That's my brother Mycroft." He looked up at where his brother had just left, then back down to Isabella, "And you're absolutely right, when he's not being annoying, he's just plain dull." Isabella laughed and Sherlock smirked.

* * *

When John woke up the next day he left Sherlock's room to find Mrs. Hudson in the living room playing with Isabella. She was holding the stuffed bee she had gifted to her and jiggling it whilst making buzzing sounds. Isabella laughed and swatted at the stuffed bumblebee and Mrs. Hudson smiled a very broad, genuine smile. "Morning" John greeted her, giving her a mild start as she turned to face him.

"Oh, that's right; Sherlock told me you were taking his room." Somehow her smile managed to grow even larger with secret knowledge that he didn't really want her to have.

"Erm, yeah, just while I'm sick, I don't want Isabella to catch what I've got." John sat down on the couch, a reasonable distance away from Mrs. Hudson and Isabella.

They sat there for a while, no one speaking, Mrs. Hudson just buzzing and Isabella laughing then John spoke up, "I finally walked in on a game of pirates yesterday." John and Mrs. Hudson both smiled widely at this.

"He's so sweet with her," she nodded, "not that I can say I'm surprised."

"Yea, no he's great."

"All though one day I caught him playing with an actual sword!"

John's mouth dropped at this.

"So I have him that broom handle he uses now."

"Ah, well. Thank you."

A few moments of silence passed before they both began laughing again. Once the laughter died down John asked, "Where is he, by the way?"

"Oh, he ran out for something or other. He didn't exactly say."

John nodded and stretched out on the couch.

* * *

A few hours later when Sherlock returned, Mrs. Hudson and John turned their attention to him where he had appeared in the doorway, both giving looks of surprise as they noticed what Sherlock was holding.

"Where'd you get that?" John asked, surprisingly calm.

"From Roberto, I solved the murder of his brother a few years back when the police couldn't. So he gave me these for free of charge when I asked him." Sherlock was beaming as the box in his hands buzzed with life.

"Where are you going to put them?"

Sherlock looked at him curiously, "here."

"No, they don't get to stay inside!"

"They're completely docile, John, I assure you."

"No, no they go **outside**. Okay?"

"But you said I could keep them."

"When I said you could keep bees I didn't mean in our living room!"

Sherlock scoffed, "Fine, I'll set them up on the roof. But for now they _need_ to stay inside, I don't have an adequate structure for them outside." John went to protest but was cut off, "Don't worry, they can't get out of their container, they'll be fine living off the can of syrup until I can make suitable accommodation for them." Sherlock put the box down on the table in front of John and went up to the roof.

John and Mrs. Hudson both leaned closer to the bees to get a better look, leaning back when Sherlock returned. Sherlock quickly crossed the room and felt John's forehead with the back of his hand, this time John simply rolled his eyes instead of removing the hand from his head. "Your condition has improved."

"Yes, Sherlock, I know that." John smiled in disbelief as he looked to Mrs. Hudson who was beaming, almost on the verge of laughter.

"I'll leave you two to it." Mrs. Hudson stood and left the flat as quickly and unobtrusively as she could.

Sherlock watched her leave then as the last sight of her was disappearing through the doorway, sat down next to John, their arms and shoulders touching. Sherlock leaned forward to look closer at the bees with a big smile on his face.

"Why do you love bees so much?" John couldn't help but ask it, he just couldn't figure it out for the life of him.

Sherlock looked back at John then straightened his posture and turned towards him, "Why wouldn't I love bees?"

John shrugged.

"Can you really say that you don't also love bees?" Sherlock pressed.

John looked at the bees, leaned in for a closer look, and then returned his attention to Sherlock, "Now that I see them, I do have to admit they're pretty cute."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, that is not how he would describe bees, but he would accept it, "see? Everyone loves bees."

John was about to argue that people who had a bee allergy or had been stung by bees probably don't love them, but he decided against it, as he was enjoying the moment and found himself not really minding that he was sick.

* * *

A/N: In case you're wondering, the type of bees Sherlock brought home are Carniolan honeybees. Thanks again for reading, and again thank you for all of you who favourite, follow and review, I appreciate it :)


	11. Chapter 11: Siblings

Chapter 11: Siblings

Moran looked across the table at his sister sitting with a slightly smug smile as she ate her salad. He had always thought of her as… something better; something better than what she was, something better than himself. In retrospect that probably only enabled her to further develop into who she had become. They didn't know each other growing up, had only met in person when they were young adults; Moran being 22 at the time, and Aggy being 19. Moran had gone off with his dad who was a British government official and traveled back to England from the United States when his mother had become pregnant with Aggy. Moran didn't even really know she existed until he received a call at 18 from his mother, her voice had been unfamiliar to him, it was the first time he could remember hearing it, and it would be the last.

She had informed him of his sister and how she had gotten into some trouble with a boyfriend who... Moran wasn't really sure what he did, his mother was very distressed and could hardly be understood… but in the end Aggy had murdered him to escape. Suddenly he was hearing of the family back in America that he had forgotten and being asked for help. Moran couldn't do much at the time; being an 18 year old in the Military and still in training, he couldn't really afford to help. He explained this to her and he could practically hear her heart breaking over the phone. At the time Moran had been just an ordinary bloke, new to the military, new to hardships, and when he hung up the phone it had been with a heavy heart. He might have even shed a few tears, but he'd never admit to that.

He later received a phone call from Aggy herself, she pleaded with him to help her. He wanted to, but he didn't know how, he was only 18 at the time. He had asked her if she would consider going to their dad, he had more resources and more knowledge than him. She told him that she had already tried but he turned away from her, she cried. That was the day Moran had lost all faith in his father, government officials, and people in general.

When Moran had finished his training and got the chance he tried to phone his sister and mother. He found out that his mother had passed and he couldn't get a hold of Aggy. Eventually she discovered he had been trying to track her down and she phoned him. As it turns out, being the advanced student she was; that she had been recruited by the C.I.A. and was currently being sent to University on a scholarship and once she received her Bachelors would have an official position at the agency. Moran congratulated her, but she didn't sound happy, just indifferent. She was a 15 year old going to University on a scholarship, at the time Moran thought it was impressive, now it just went further to demonstrate the ability the world has to take young potential and warp it.

Time went on and both Moran and his sister climbed the ranks of their respective institutions, maintaining contact via weekly phone calls. Both he and his sister were very smart, very motivated, and ruthless; they both had a general apathy for their fellow man, and learned things much quicker than the average. At the age of 21 Moran had attracted the attention of an anonymous benefactor and began doing some "of the books" contract work on the side of his military career.

At age 22, his sister now 19, one week he did not receive his weekly phone call from her. Using his considerable resources he discovered that she had gotten into a bit of a spot with the C.I.A. and they had contracted a man hunt on her. Moran saw what she had done, and while he didn't approve of it; he couldn't help but think they had deserved it, considering who they were, what they did for a living and who they worked for. Moran's anti-establishment sympathies had grown considerably in the past years, with what he had seen and done; who he had worked for. It didn't take him long to find her, contact her and find her way to England. When they finally met they collapsed into each other's arms and cried, family and circumstance had kept them apart for so long. Their first phone call and their first meeting had been the only two real emotional moments they had ever shared, or arguably even had. He had recommended her to do a job for the anonymous benefactor, doing wet work like he did. Eventually he retired from the military as he was just tired of balancing his two modes of employment and only worked for his unknown employer. It wasn't long before he would climb the ranks and become Moriarty's number two, and his sister would be a high ranked assassin who was the only one aside from Moran that Moriarty trusted for the high stake jobs.

Moran had never thought of himself as soulless, well at least no more so than the average person. But as he looked across at his sister, he couldn't help but wonder if they had both lost something. He thought back on his life, almost 20 years after he and his sister had first met in person with tears staining their cheeks, and he laughed. It was very possible, but he didn't know how to care.

Aggy looked up at him, "What are you laughing at?"

"I have no soul and I don't give a damn." Moran smiled exposing his canine teeth, an intimidating smile by most people's standards, but Aggy simply smiled back sweetly.

"If you had one, I'd say that you weren't paying attention."

Moran pensively nodded and downed the rest of his bourbon, receiving looks from some judgmental patrons and waiting staff. Consulting his watch Moran stood, "I have to go. I'll see you later at the boss's." He slapped sufficient money down onto the table to pay for both their midday meals and turned to leave.

"I know you're going to see him." Aggy didn't bother to look up from her salad as she spoke to her brother.

Moran turned to face her.

Looking up she continued, "And more so, Moriarty knows."

Silence.

"Do you really think he'll appreciate you meeting up with Sherlock and John?" She raised her eyebrows as she spoke, almost condescending of her.

Moran rolled his eyes, "I'm just meeting up with John; Sherlock won't be there."

Aggy laughed, "Do you really believe that? He'll see right through you."

It was Moran's turn to be condescending, "he didn't see through you; at least, not at first."

"I didn't make him jealous." She smiled.

Moran gave her a curious look, eyes narrowed, "how do you figure I'll make Sherlock more jealous than you could?"

"Because Sherlock's not scared of some _woman_ taking his John away, he's scared a man will do it; if a man does it that means that Sherlock really did have a chance after all. And that he wasted it." She smiled a smile that seemed out of place.

Moran flat out laughed at this, it made too much sense, and he couldn't believe he didn't think of it before. He held his arms out in an appeasing gesture, "well I can't exactly just stand him up, now can I?"

"I've already arranged it so he'll end up standing you up." She smiled.

"Ah." Moran nodded, a curious death would have taken place a few hours ago and Sherlock would get called to consult, taking John with him. His mobile buzzed in his pocket, it was John cancelling. Moran sat back down at the table and ordered yet another bourbon.

"The only reason you're not dead right now is because Moriarty likes you."

Moran arched an eyebrow at his sister as he took sip of his freshly poured bourbon.

"It's true, if Moriarty were Sherlock, Sherlock would be John and you'd be… Lestrad."

Moran almost spat out his drink, choking as he attempted to regain control over his laughter.

"Oh I don't know, I think I like him a little more than Lestrad." Moriarty's voice sang from just behind him. Moran slowly turned to look at his employer pulling up a chair right next to him, and sitting so their arms touched.

"Hello sir." Moran said blandly as he put his glass of bourbon down onto the table.

"Yes, hello, hello indeed; I do like how polite you get when you see me. All though, I must admit seeing you in your natural state is rather pleasing as well." Moriarty raised his eyebrows once and Moran, knowing exactly what he meant, went to take another sip of bourbon before Moriarty put his hand over the top of the glass, shaking his head, "You really _should_ let that breath, dear."

Moran only just managed to not roll his eyes.

"You look like you've just sucked on a lemon." Moriarty teased, "What did I tell you about being annoyed with me? **Don't do that.**" Moriarty's voice dropped low and dangerous and Moran did his best to smile at his mad employer.

"Sorry sir."

Moriarty smiled a manic smile but quickly grew serious again as he danced his fingers around the rim of Moran's glass, "I hear you've been seeing Johnny boy behind my back."

Moran kept his face impassive as he responded, "I was in the neighborhood and we knew each other in the army days so I decided to visit. As a sort of… last good bye, you could say."

Moriarty looked at Moran critically with eyebrows raised, gathering all the information he could and processing it, coming to conclusions in an instant. "Then why were you going to see him again today?" his voice a dark, high pitched melody.

Moran didn't really know, he surprised himself when he hesitated just long enough for Moriarty to continue speaking.

"Yes, well. I'm not going to let Sherlock choose Johnny boy over me, and I certainly **won't** stand for you choosing him as well, my pet."

Moran nodded and Moriarty grabbed his face, "Things are just starting to get fun again, I won't be having **anyone** ruin it for me." His face was only a hair's breathe from Moran's before he turned to look at Aggy, "Keep an eye on your brother. We don't want him doing anything silly, now do we?"

Aggy nodded, "Yes sir, and no sir."

Moriarty sneered at her as he stood and departed the restaurant.

Once Moriarty was out of sight Moran turned to Aggy, "He _really_ doesn't like you, does he?"

Aggy shook her head, "No, he only tolerates me because I am **excellent** at what I do, and because I'm _your_ sister." To anyone else it would almost seem sarcastic, Moran knew better.

Moran leaned back in his seat, "What can I say? I'm one sexy Mo' Fo'." A predatory grin spread across his face. Aggy rolled her eyes and started walking away, Moran called after her, "Did you ever really care about him?" She turned to face him, "I'm just curious."

Aggy sighed, "I think in another life I think I would have. Sometimes it almost makes me sad."

Moran nodded then turned his attention to his bourbon.

* * *

Leaving after his evening rendezvous with Moriarty and Aggy he shook his head as he opened his car door. He looked in the rearview mirror, rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, "I know you're there. Can we not be so childish?" He turned to face the man that was currently hiding on the floor in front of his car's back seat. Apparently he caught the man off guard, exactly what he had been trying to do to Moran, scoffing he grabbed the man and pulled him up so he was no longer sitting on the floor, but rather the seat, "Mycroft send you?"

The man looked like he was going to attempt some sort of pitiful attempt at denying it when Moran gave him a stern look, "Yes sir."

Moran smiled his predatory grin, "Good, manners will help you in this situation. Don't lie to me; know that I'll know if you're lying to me." He pointed angrily at the man in the back seat.

The man nodded, clearly scared. Why did Mycroft insist on sending incompetent men to come for him?

"What were you told to do?" Moran's body twisted as he tried to face the man from the driver's seat.

"I was told to kill you, sir."

Moran nodded. "I'm going to do you a favor now, but you'll have to get out of the car first."

The man smiled and gladly got out of the car, such a stupid man. Once the man had stepped clear of the car and closed the door, Moran pulled his gun out and shot him in the head, Moran didn't bother to clean up the body. He just left it there; the bums would roll the body, taking anything of value. The entire population would dismiss it as a robbery, only Mycroft and his men would know better.

Aggy walked by and glanced down at the man's corpse then looked up at her brother with one eyebrow arched, "A friend of yours?"

Moran laughed behind his hand, hiding his predatory grin, "Not exactly."

"Hm," She looked down at the man lying dead on the cold pavement then up to her brother again with pursed lips, "well are you going to just leave him there?"

Moran nodded with an indifferent frown on his face, "Don't really see why not."

Aggy rolled her eyes, "ugh, you're so lazy!" she just barely managed to hide her smile.

Moran scoffed, with a slight scowl on his face lifted one hand into the air in a 'what the fuck' gesture, "Really, me; **I'm** lazy? **Me**?" his voice went uncommonly high pitched coming from such a large man.

Aggy smiled almost sadistically, "Oh yea." Then she walked to her own car. Moran rolled his eyes and sighed as he started his car and drove off, leaving his sister and the corpse behind him.

* * *

Once Moran had finally returned to his flat for the night he did a sweep of his flat to get rid of Moriarty's bugs. He found more than he would have preferred, most of which were video/audio recorders in his bedroom and bathroom. He promptly destroyed them; afterwards he received a text from Moriarty which read: _You know I'll just replace those in the morning, and in more creative places._

Moran sighed as he read the text and rolled his eyes. The moment he was strategically ready to take over Moriarty's web, he'd go in for the kill. Perhaps if he did it quickly enough he could save John, so he could live happily ever after with Sherlock. He couldn't help but smile at the notion, at least then someone would be happy.

Another text from Moriarty: _That brunette was frisky ;)_

Despite already being aware that Moriarty would know, Moran still found himself reddening at the thought that Moriarty had watch last night's escapades without his knowledge and couldn't help but curse out, "Mother fucker!"

Moriarty: _You're so sexy when you swear._

"I've missed some, haven't I?" Moran spoke out loud.

Moriarty:_ Oh baby, you'll never be able to find them all._

Moran lifted the palm of his hand to his face, he didn't want to deal with this; he turned to grab his coat to leave his flat again. He opened the door only to find Moriarty leaning on the door frame, waiting for him. "Oh, so nice of you to join me, are you going to invite me in?" He practically sang with a manic smile.

Moran did his best to keep his face and voice impassive, "Would you like to come in sir?"

Manically grinning, Moriarty nearly sung, "Well, _yes_, I would! Thank you _so_ much for offering, really, it's _so_ polite of you." His voice grew dark and his face grew serious as he entered Moran's flat.

Moran spent the next few hours shamelessly flirting with his boss; he would take any advantage against Moriarty that he would offer. It ended with Moran bracing himself over Moriarty lying on the couch, their faces very nearly touching, and intense eye contact as Moran teased at a kiss before speaking, whispering the words against Moriarty's lips, "I have an early assignment tomorrow, sir." Moran always had fun teasing his boss, Moriarty wanted what he couldn't have, and he wanted it to come to him on its own; or at least for it to seem that way.

Moriarty scowled, "You don't have to do it."

"The entire plan relies on this assignment."

"Ugh! Send someone else to do it!" Moriarty moaned as he pulled on Moran's shirt.

"There's no one else to do it."

Moriarty looked livid as he pushed Moran hard to get off him; Moran sat up and allowed Moriarty to get up. "Don't forget," Moriarty started as he walked across the room, grabbed his jacket, slipped it on and went to walk out the door, "I'll be watching you." His voice was dark and menacing, Moran simply nodded and watched as his employer slammed the door after him.

* * *

A/N: Yea… Moran may be super bitter and cynical, but that doesn't stop him from shipping Johnlock. :D Thanks again for reading and reviewing, the follows and the favourites!


	12. Chapter 12: Information

Chapter 12: Information

Moriarty left Moran's flat wearing a bit of a scowl on his face, why did everyone always have to be so stupid, so ordinary?! It was so disappointing, Moran, silly Moran, all though Moriarty couldn't exactly say he was too upset about it, at least Moran would give him a good side game while he played with Sherlock. He would stop his usurper, he would fix Sherlock, and with any luck he'd be able to keep both tied to his bed. A wicked grin spread across his face at the notion, he had so many wonderful plans.

He'd leave it for now, let Moran feel secure in his plots, but before long he knew he would have to pay a private visit to Aggy.

* * *

Sherlock paled as he looked at the image on his computer screen. He really should have seen this coming. God why did everything having anything to do with John always blind him to the obvious; why must things always be so clear in retrospect? He sat for a while, staring at the image of a newly brunette Mary Morstan, all though she was surely going by a different name now. How had he missed this? Granted, he had suspected _something_, but still, he should have done his inspection properly, like he would have had John's emotions not been involved. He could never hurt John, and insisting on preforming the autopsy himself probably would have done just that. Surely Sherlock should have been able to figure out the doctors were lying? Perhaps they didn't know; how did she do it? He knew she either had Moriarty's help or did it on his command, those are the only solutions; but still Sherlock found himself scowling as he nearly chewed his knuckles off, hating how much information he had been lacking recently, when John came into the room. Quickly Sherlock snapped the laptop shut and put it on the ground. John glanced at him curiously with his brows furrowed, about to say something, when Sherlock abruptly stood and announced, "Get Isabella ready, we're going to dinner."

John leaned back in surprise as Sherlock rushed into his bedroom (where John was still sleeping each night despite now being healthy, Sherlock had insisted that he would be able to maintain better health if he were able to sleep through the night without Isabella constantly waking him) and called after him, "Where are we going?"

"Angelo's, where else?" Sherlock scoffed as he returned from _their_ bedroom, the bedroom they were now sharing; all though, they had yet to actually _be_ in the room at the same time. Neither one wanted to cross that boundary first, not while so much still went unsaid.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John just had to make sure, Sherlock did look a little paler than usual.

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck, gesturing to upstairs with his head, "Isabella. Go get her ready." John nodded and went to get Isabella ready, she had really been growing these past few months.

* * *

John and Sherlock sat down at their regular table from the first time they went there, sitting Isabella in her seat beside them. Angelo lit the candle and slipped a note to Sherlock. Reading the note, Sherlock arched an eyebrow then thanked Angelo. Sherlock was deep in thought as Angelo brought John's usual. John watched Sherlock staring out the window, licked his lips in thought and went to say something but decided against it in favor of trying to feed a tiny bit of pasta to Isabella, they were starting to get her onto solid food.

A woman passing by the table to leave commented, "You two are really cute with her," she smiled, "She has your eyes." John simply nodded and returned his attention to Isabella.

John looked up from Isabella to find Sherlock staring at him intently only to look away again. John decided he'd get the conversation going, "What was in the note?"

Sherlock feigned ignorance, "Note?"

"Yes, Sherlock, the note; the note that Angelo _just_ handed to you."

"Nothing of importance," Sherlock dismissed and returned his gaze outside.

John internally debated whether he should let this slide or pursue it further, deciding on the latter, "No, Sherlock, it's obviously bothering you. What was in the note?"

Sherlock considered this, considered many things then rolled his lips into a thin line before responding, "Do you trust me, John?"

John looked taken aback, "What?"

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, "John do you trust me?" Sherlock paused, hoping the rearranging the order of the words would help, but the look on John's face told him he would have to elaborate, "Look, I know I've deceived you in the past, and that I…" he sighed as though the mere thought was abominable to him, "I have hurt you; but, do you trust that everything I have done has always been with not only your safety in mind, but the safety of others in mind as well? Do you believe that I've always acted for the best?"

Sherlock caught John completely off guard, he definitely had not been expecting that, "I… I really don't know how to answer that right now, Sherlock."

"Answer it honestly." Sherlock's command was softened by slight insecurities that only John could ever notice.

"I do, I absolutely do trust you. I trust you with my life," John shrugged, "but that doesn't mean I like it when you keep things from me, or that you don't piss me off sometimes." He continued to eat his pasta, "Just let me know what's going on."

Sherlock nodded and went to respond, but then closed his mouth before any words came out and returned his attention to the outside window. John continued eating, giving the genius time to sort through his many thoughts. Sherlock wanted to tell him that Mary was still alive, somewhere in London, but he didn't know how John would take it. Should he tell John now, while he didn't have sufficient information? Should he have to tell John that he couldn't answer all the questions he has, face John's what would presumably be heart break? Or should he wait until he had gathered _all_ the data before telling him, and have John be angry for not having been told sooner? One thing was for sure, he couldn't tell him _now_, at a restaurant, in public. No, no, no, John would much prefer this sort of thing happened in private.

Sherlock decided he could probably disclose _some_ information right now, "That friend of yours," he moved closer to John in the booth so his voice didn't have to carry very far and no one would over hear, "That Moran character…"

"Sherlock, Sebastian really is a good guy." John groaned.

"Yes, yes, he's a fine chap. That's not what I'm getting at."

John raised his eyebrows and moved slightly closer to Sherlock.

"He's been working for…" Sherlock subtly checked the reflections of multiple surfaces to ensure no one was listening in, "he's been working for Moriarty."

John's jaw dropped.

"Obviously he's making a power play and is hoping for me to make cases against some loyalists that wouldn't be too easily removed by him, but he's provided me with ample information to begin tracking down Moriarty." Sherlock smirked at the thought of his nemesis being that much nearer to being apprehended.

John was still shocked but managed a response, "he just _told_ you all this? What? Just over coffee? What, what the hell, Sherlock?"

"No, don't be silly. He tried to do it anonymously, but I figured it out anyway. I don't think he really cares if _**I**_ find out, just as long as Moriarty doesn't." Sherlock smiled, "He's playing a _very_ dangerous game, your friend."

John put his fork down and placed both hands in fists on the table then rubbed them over his face, "Oh my god. I can't believe this."

"Why not, he has all the skills and assets that one would desire in a highly trained assassin and criminal mastermind; I can see why he would attract the attention of Moriarty." Sherlock shrugged.

"He was my mate; we served in the army together! I don't understand what happened to him." John began shaking his head.

"He's no different than he was in your army days." Sherlock attempted to be consoling, but only managed to push John further on edge.

"What do you mean?"

"You met him in his mid-twenties?"

"Yes."

"He was already working for Moriarty."

John looked completely abashed, "come on," he said as he stood, "we're going home and you're going to tell me everything you know."

* * *

John reached the top of the steps first and entered the flat. Sherlock entered second, he looked very concerned almost like he thought John would break if he handled him wrong. John looked at him for a moment; then put Isabella down upstairs in her crib. Once he returned back to the living room, John decided he would plunge right into the conversation, "What else is going on? What else do you know about Sebastian?"

Sherlock sat down in his chair before he began, "Moran…"

"Sebastian." John corrected.

"Yes, Sebastian Moran." Sherlock rolled his eyes, on edge just as much as John was; already neither of them were enjoying this conversation, "As I was saying, Moran joined the army as you already know. He was very proficient and soon drew the attention of one James Moriarty. From what I can tell, he didn't exactly enjoy government officials as his father had abandoned his mother when she was pregnant with his younger sister."

"Sebastian doesn't have a sister." John interjected, leaning on his chair.

"He does. I think that's the cause of his resentment and if not then it would be upon his discovering that he had a sister, as it's possible he had been too young to remember his mother _or_ the fact that she had been pregnant at the time of their departure, he then would have also discovered that his father refused to help despite it being well within his means to do so; thus explaining his eventual abandonment of his post in the military."

"It had seemed quite abrupt," John nodded.

"But it hadn't been; no, he had been planning it for quite some time. He would use the military to gain the skills he required. Now he's making a play at Moriarty, why bother making your own web when you can take over someone else's?" Sherlock hoped it would be enough information and that no questions would be asked.

"But what happened to his mom and sister?" John said as he sat in his seat.

Sherlock sighed; perhaps he could tell him without really _telling_ him, "His mother passed away not long after first making contact. His sister, however, she ended up in the C.I.A. where she brutally murdered some of her superiors for attempting to sexually exploit her, then fled to England where Moran got her a job working for Moriarty. Or at least from what I can tell." Sherlock had to look away; he really didn't want him to figure it out.

John sighed, "Wow."

Sherlock nodded with a slight frown.

"Sebastian seems like such a good guy though."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, _stop swooning over other men, John!_ _You're mine!_

A thought suddenly occurred to John, "Wait? What's going to happen to his sister when Sebastian tries to take over?"

Sherlock shrugged, "that all depends on whose side she takes and who wins. Seeing as she's his sister, I would imagine she'd side with her brother. Most people would."

John furrowed his brows, "Yea, I suppose."

Sherlock didn't mention that he suspected Moran would fail and that Moriarty would go on a rampage.

They sat in silence for a little while before John spoke up again, "What's her name?"

"Whose name?"

"Sebastian's sister's name."

"Oh. Agatha." _All though she uses many names. _

John seemed to think on this for a moment, "hm, I don't know anyone named Agatha." He looked up to see Sherlock staring at him with narrowed eyes, "Oh, erm, I was just wondering if I had met her. In the army days me and Sebastian had been close. Never know, I could have met her and not even known it." He smiled.

Sherlock frowned but nodded; then forcing a smile, "You never know." Sherlock abruptly stood and began putting his jacket on again.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to consult my homeless network."

* * *

John went to bed that night, as usual, made sure Isabella was all right, brushed his teeth then went to lie down in Sherlock's bed. It no longer smelt so strongly of Sherlock, now it was more of a combination between the two residents. It had been a little after three in the morning when he heard Sherlock showering, he must have fallen into something smelly again as it was a fairly long shower by Sherlock's standards. It lasted an entire hour and a half, giving Sherlock plenty of time to think. That didn't surprise John, what surprised him was when suddenly a scantily clad Sherlock slid under the covers with him, he stayed on his side of the bed, but still _Sherlock Holmes was in bed with him!_

John wasn't sure if he should pretend to be asleep, or if he should ask him where he had been; he didn't have to figure it out because Sherlock's voice interrupted his thoughts, "I know you're awake. I can practically hear you thinking."

"I was just wondering where you'd been all night." John's voice was a hoarse whisper, tired from sleep; he internally scolded himself at how it sounded.

Sherlock turned in the bed to face John more directly, "Homeless network, John, I already told you that." John could see a twinkle in Sherlock's eyes.

John rolled his eyes, "Yes, but I was wondering _where_ you were, not with _whom_."

"Homeless network, I went to where the homeless are."

"Is that why you took such a long shower?" John released the thought before he could stop himself. He had meant to ask if he had gotten the information he was after, not about his showering.

"You were listening to me in the shower?" Sherlock sounded skeptical.

John hesitated.

"Good night John."

"Good night," John cleared his throat, "Sherlock." Both men turned away from each other and drifted off to sleep. Sherlock only slept twenty minutes, but decided to watch John sleep for roughly an hour then slowly got out of bed, quickly put on his dressing gown and went into the living room when he heard John's breathing pattern start to shift from sleep to consciousness. Sherlock liked watching John sleep, there was something very calming about it, something that allowed his mind to calm.

* * *

John woke up to an empty bed, still warm on Sherlock's side though; so he mustn't have gotten out of bed _too_ long ago. When John reached the kitchen to make his morning toast Sherlock was reading one of the many newspapers covering their messy table.

"Good Morning," John greeted as he prepared his toast.

"Morning," Sherlock's baritone voice filled the air.

"Did you get the information you were after last night?" John decided to ask the question he had wanted to last night, instead of about his showering. A faint blush covered his cheeks at the memory, so he turned to face his toast directly.

"No, it's really quite impressive just how little people are willing to say about Moriarty. I suppose fear works as the best silencer."

"So no one knew anything?" John decided he could probably turn to face Sherlock now.

"Oh, people knew. They just didn't want to say; can't really say I blame them though." Sherlock chuckled slightly, "But I got information off them anyway, the homeless aren't known for being the most hygienic of people, there's always evidence to be found on them." Sherlock looked up from his paper to John, why was he blushing? Perhaps because they had shared a bed last night now Sherlock was causing him to blush? More information was necessary; he decided to increase proximity to narrow down probable causes.

Swiftly Sherlock stood and with only two strides was so close he could feel John's breath on his neck; Sherlock wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he quite liked it. John's posture instinctively straightened, and wouldn't you know it, the blush spread further across his cheeks. So Sherlock_ was_ the cause of John's blushing. Sherlock smiled widely at this new piece of information. The only trouble, what to do now? Oh god, Sherlock really hadn't thought this one through. John's voice caught in his throat as he spoke up, "Sherlock?"

"Mmmm?" Sherlock kept staring at John, the way he had said his name took all thoughts from the genius's mind.

"You're really close."

Sherlock decided to hazard a follow up question, "_too_ close?"

John's head shook minutely, "really close."

Sherlock had to come up with a reason for his sudden proximity; "I just wanted…" he looked around for answers, "to steal a piece of your toast." Sherlock grabbed a slice of John's toast then rushed off into the living room, _what a horrible response_ he scolded himself.

"Oy, Sherlock!" John poked his head through the doorway, "if you wanted a piece of toast, next time you can just ask." John went back into the kitchen to make himself _another_ piece of toast, shaking his head at the eccentric genius he was living with.

Sherlock scolded himself some more, he didn't even want the toast; he wasn't going to eat it. He scowled at the toast, perhaps he could think up some sort of experiment to run on it.

* * *

A/N: Surprise, Mary's alive! (Yes, I'm aware that I'm a bit of a dick.) Thanks for the reviews, favs, follows, thanks for reading. Have a good weekend :D


	13. Chapter 13: Tea Cups and Murder Plots

Chapter 13: Tea Cups and Murder Plots

Sherlock was walking around naked, again. John had thought he had stopped that habit when Isabella came into the world and they all started living together. Turns out, nope, he really hadn't. Isabella was away participating in a _social experiment_ as Sherlock liked to call it; she was at day care, socializing with other babies. There had actually been quite a debate between Sherlock and John beforehand; Sherlock didn't think it was necessary, John said it was. Sherlock had been all huffy since John dropped her off. Sherlock's mood and nudity didn't do anything to improve John's current frustration.

"Sherlock _**please**_ put some clothes on."

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Really, what does it matter, John?"

John huffed and decided to go into the kitchen to make himself a cuppa; perhaps that would ease his nerves. Nope, he didn't get to have a cuppa because he dropped his mug. It didn't shatter, it was a sturdy mug, it was John's R.A.M.C mug and so instead when it hit the floor the rim chipped and the handle snapped off. "God damn it!" John shouted as he started to rub his forehead with his fingers.

Suddenly Sherlock appeared in the doorway, a curious expression on his face as he looked from John to the cup. "It can easily be mended." He said as he swooped down to pick up the two broken cup pieces.

John sighed, Sherlock wouldn't understand, "Yea, I know."

Sherlock lifted the two bits of cup and placed them on the counter, "Then why do you still look distressed?"

John almost laughed to himself, of course Sherlock wouldn't understand, "It's nothing, Sherlock. Don't worry about it."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, "I can tell when you're lying, John."

John blushed slightly which only went to confuse Sherlock more. "Sherlock, I'm just… I'm just having an off day."

"I know. Isabella's off with other _children_. They'll probably rub some of their stupid off on her." Sherlock attempted to be consoling but it was still evident that he was bitter over John's decision to override him.

John shook his head and stifled a laugh, "No Sherlock, it's not that."

Sherlock furrowed his brows, narrowed his eyes and looked to the side, he wanted John to elaborate, but wasn't sure if he should ask. Of course he should, always collect any possible information, "Elaborate. Please."

John smiled, embarrassed as he blushed even more, he turned away so he didn't have to face Sherlock, he didn't want to answer. So he wouldn't. As stubborn as Sherlock could be, John could match. "No, Sherlock. It's fine, don't worry about it, seriously, its fine."

Sherlock took a few steps closer to John until they could both feel the heat radiating from each other. "No."

"It really is." John's voice caught in his throat, "Fine, I mean. It really is fine."

Sherlock didn't respond; he simply stood where he was.

"Go put some clothes on! God, it's like dealing with another baby." John again rubbed his forehead as he decided he'd try to get his brilliant, beautiful- scratch that last adjective- flat mate, _friend_ to put clothes on one last time. Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes in response as he looked John up and down, probably reading every thought in John's head while he was at it.

John was getting warm, too warm; he moved around Sherlock and started walking into the living room, completely forgetting his intentions of making a cuppa. "Why are you so upset, John? You normally don't mind." Sherlock was lingering in the kitchen as he spoke to John, feeling slightly self-conscious.

John sighed, "It's nothing Sherlock. Don't worry about it, you just wouldn't understand." John cringed as the last few words left his lips, immediately regretting their departure.

Sherlock was suddenly very close to John again, "What wouldn't I understand?"

John smiled; maybe he could make Sherlock uncomfortable enough to leave the subject alone, "Sex, Sherlock. You wouldn't understand that I'm sexually frustrated, I haven't had sex since before Isabella was born and it's starting to get to me."

Sherlock didn't skip a beat though, "Well go have sex then, or masturbate, or whatever it is that people do." He said it so dismissively, waving his hands as though he wanted John to just get up and go do it.

John was momentarily surprised, eyes widening for only a second, "Sherlock, it's not _that_ simple."

"How is it not that simple?" Sherlock genuinely did not understand.

"It's not exactly _that_ easy to find someone to have sex with!" John was having difficulty making eye contact so he looked as far from Sherlock as he could.

Sherlock was baffled, he had women and men throwing themselves at him all the time, surely John would have the same. John was an attractive man; he had been in the military and was still fit. He would be a dream sexual partner if one were into such things. Sherlock pondered his friend's situation, "that still leaves masturbation…" he trailed off, noting the expression on John's face, "I've said something wrong, haven't I?"

John managed to nod, "a bit."

Sherlock tried to think of a way out of the situation, he couldn't think of anything. He would help John out if he could, but he could not conceive of a way to do so. Sherlock turned on his heel and walked into their bedroom, stared at the bed then walked out into the hallway where he looked at John, then walked back into the bedroom. He repeated this action a few times.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John watched Sherlock walk in and out of the bed room for a short while before he spoke up.

"I don't know, John!" Sherlock seemed to be developing a case of boredom, John couldn't help but laugh a little; at least John could deal with his sexual frustration; Sherlock, however was like a big baby when it came to boredom. Sherlock turned abruptly to John; he seemed predatory as he approached John who was sitting in his chair, "You're laughing."

Sherlock's silken baritone voice cut off John's laughter and John looked up at his curly haired, bored genius of a flat mate and swallowed hard. John nodded. Sherlock arched an eyebrow and smirked, he didn't move. John and Sherlock maintained eye contact for, well, John didn't know how long. It was surprisingly difficult, he was seated, Sherlock was standing, John almost caught himself glancing down a few times and had a difficult time not licking his lips.

A deep rumble of a chuckle shook loose from Sherlock's chest. Sherlock definitely liked this, the way John's pupils dilated, his breathing rate increased, he was sure if he got just a little bit closer he would probably be able to hear his heart beating a mile a minute. _John was bothered by Sherlock's nudity __**because**__ he was sexually frustrated._ Sherlock found himself wondering what other reactions he could elicit from the former army doctor; suddenly he turned from John and went into the bedroom to get dressed. He couldn't control his thoughts, or his body. He'd have to make up an excuse to depart.

"Where're you going?" John looked up from his chair, he looked slightly disappointed. Sherlock memorised the look and stored the memory safely in his mind palace, he'd have to inspect this facial expression in more depth later.

"Homeless network, John. I need to check on how things have been progressing." Sherlock said dismissively through his mask of indifference as he made his way to the door.

"Ah, I'd come with you, but I have to pick up Isabella in an hour."

Both Sherlock and John were simultaneously pleased and displeased by their temporary parting. Sherlock made his escape downstairs, taking multiple stairs at a time. He was nearly out the door when he heard Mrs. Hudson; no matter, if he moved quickly enough he could make it.

"Hello dear." She chirped.

God, Sherlock was really dreading how this day was going, "Must dash, sorry Mrs. Hudson, important things require my attention." He managed to get out of the building without further delay, but he left Mrs. Hudson standing in slightly offended shock. Sherlock knew that would cause Mrs. Hudson to go upstairs and visit John where she'd complain to him as though he were Sherlock's keeper.

Sherlock wasn't wrong; as soon as Mrs. Hudson recovered from her temporary shock she slowly made the climb up the stairs. "Woo hoo?" she called as she peeked into the flat, "You and Sherlock having a bit of a domestic?"

John furrowed his brow as he looked up at Mrs. Hudson from where he sat in his chair, "No, we're fine." It almost sounded like a question which would allow for Mrs. Hudson to elaborate, she had John's curiosity.

"He just rushed out of here like he was bent on escape!" she shrugged as she sat down in Sherlock's chair; she looked slightly out of place. Usually she would sit in John's chair if she had a choice, but now she sat in _Sherlock's_ chair; both Mrs. Hudson and John knew that Sherlock had no qualms about sitting in it naked, as he had been today. Despite looking slightly uncomfortable she smiled, making her look more natural, "I don't know what's got into him. He normally stops to say hello, or tell me where he's off to; if it's for a case that is."

John considered this, "I don't know, he said he had to check on things with his homeless network. You know, to see how things are progressing."

"Hmmm," Mrs. Hudson seemed slightly apathetic.

"Also I think he's still a little upset about Isabella going to day care to socialize today."

Mrs. Hudson smiled a knowing smile and nodded, "Ah, I knew something was up with him. Some people have a hard time sending their kids off to play with others for the first time."

"Yea, I know." John considered arguing, but he didn't see the point, Isabella might as well also be Sherlock's child as well as his own. They raised her in a joint effort. Instead John decided to change the subject, "care for a cuppa?"

"Oh yes, dear! Thank you." Mrs. Hudson was beaming; it was always a nice treat for one of her boys to make her a cuppa.

John went into the kitchen where he put the kettle on and came again to the realisation that his favourite mug had been broken, with a sigh he got a different cup out for himself, and another out for Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

Sherlock received the message he had been expecting, hand delivered by Wiggins. Sherlock thanked him then unfolded the slit of paper. He really wished Moran would use envelopes, which would preserve more of the evidence, changing from hand to hand wiped most of the usable data away. Mind you, that was probably Moran's intentions, catch Moriarty but not Moran. He used a printer, smart, and it was coded, also smart. If one is to play a dangerous game with James Moriarty then it's always best to take as many precautions as possible. Sherlock felt Moran's precautions would likely be insufficient to protect him and his sister, but there was no realistic way in which Sherlock could help beyond what he was already doing.

Within the note contained information pertaining to a murder conspiracy due to take place today. He would have to move quickly to validate all the information given, and to stop the murder. Sherlock could solve the murder, but it took John Watson to save a life; he would have to run home to fetch his blogger, as he would be essential.

* * *

Sherlock came storming up the stairs where he found Mrs. Hudson and John enjoying a cuppa in each other's company. John bouncing Isabella on his knee, he must have just returned with her. John raised his brows at Sherlock's sudden appearance. "We have to go, John. Mrs. Hudson, would you be so kind as to watch Isabella for us? We have to stop a murder plot."

John handed Isabella to Mrs. Hudson just as she agreed. John and Sherlock were out the door in a matter of moments. "Where are we going?"

Sherlock dismissed him with a wave of his hand as they got into the cab and began texting Lestrade; damned Moran, he should have given him more time. He only _just_ had sufficient time to fact check on the taxi ride back to 221B; again, that was probably Moran's intention. Sherlock scowled into his phone as he continued texting and double checking information on his phone.

John was still slightly frustrated from earlier on, his patience was wearing thin, "_Okay_ Sherlock, will you at least tell me _what's_ going on?"

"Your friend, Moran, informed me of a murder conspiracy, we _may_ have just enough time to stop it."

John looked at Sherlock in shock, he was still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that his friend had been working for Moriarty for as long as they've known each other. "Have you phoned Lestrade?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm currently texting with him."

John nodded, an awkward silence loomed over them. John felt like the atmosphere in the cab was thick and dense, he almost couldn't breathe; he couldn't stop stealing glances at Sherlock's lips. He tried to get his head back into the game, he had to help Sherlock stop a murder right now. John decided it was probably safer to look out the window than at Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced up from his phone to John from time to time, each time John was looking away until finally Sherlock noted that John was staring out the window. Had he done something wrong? Should he not have rushed out of the flat so abruptly earlier? Sherlock shook his head, he had to get his head into the game, this was important. _John's important too_, why did the air have to be so thick in here? Sherlock glared down at his phone as thought the act would assist him in honing his concentration.

* * *

A/N: bwahahaha, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happens! Thanks for reading, reviewing, following and clicking favourite :)


	14. Chapter 14: Blog update and Information

Chapter 14: An Attempt of a Blog Update and Unexpected Information

John stared at the screen of his computer, debating what to write, how much information to put, what to put in, what to leave out. He decided he would start with Isabella; that should be a safe topic of discussion.

_**Play dates:**_

_Yesterday I signed Isabella up for a daycare service. She needs to learn how to socialize, so I thought; hey, why not? Sherlock didn't like the idea, he kept saying how the other children would rub some of their stupid off on her. I suppose I should take it as a compliment that he seems to think Isabella is so smart at such a young age. But it can be annoying when he always insists that we keep her away from other children. It still is annoying that we had to "discuss" it for a week before I just gave up and dropped her off at daycare without him knowing. By the way, when I say discuss I more so mean Sherlock saying "no" every time I bring it up. When I got back he fell into one of his moods, I explained that it was essential for her to socialize with other babies her age, but he still was upset. I broke my favorite R.A.M.C cup, I should be able to fix it with some glue so it's no big deal, still a little sad though. I've had that cup forever. _

John sighed, now thinking about the case. How much information should he put in about it? It was still linked to a case they were currently working on – Moriarty – and he didn't want to risk anything. He knew Moriarty reads his blog; that was evident from the time his blog had been hacked, and from all the "anonymous" comments. Sherlock didn't need to tell him that it had been Moriarty, John could figure out _that_ much on his own.

_It's been a crazy week. I found out so many things about someone I know, or used to know. I can't believe I've been in such close contact with a criminal all these years. Everyone I know turns out to be someone we're investigating against. Everyone except Sherlock. He's the only one I can trust right now. Him and Isabella, and maybe Mrs. Hudson. We spent the second half of yesterday chasing down a murderer! I can't tell you who they were trying to kill or why. It's too close the case we're still working on. I'll give you guys more information once we've solved it. All I can really tell you right now is that Sherlock's at the top of his game, I can't believe how much he sees. He notices everything! Sometimes I wonder if he notices too much for his own good, like when he insults the officials or a client. But yesterday he saved my life, I was_

SuddenlySherlock's arms were wrapped around John's shoulders as he muttered, "Don't bother with your blog today." John looked up from the computer to Sherlock, his eyes were closed as he practically buried his face in John's shoulder, soft curly black hair brushed against John's cheek. John internally debated whether he should pat Sherlock's head or not, it's a comforting gesture, and Sherlock's hair looks so touchable.

Instead John settled for muttering an "Okay" before closing his lap top. He would have put it down, but he didn't want to move out of Sherlock's embrace. Sherlock sighed as he stood and broke the hug, then grabbed John's computer from his lap and sat down in his own seat, opened the lap top, and began typing away. John stifled a sarcastic laugh causing Sherlock to look up from the computer currently balancing on his lap.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." John was unusually curt as he got up and left the room. Sherlock could tell he had upset him, but he was unsure as to how.

Sherlock followed John to their bedroom, "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" aggravation was evident in John's voice as he looked up at Sherlock from where he had been sitting on the bed. John dropped his face into his hands. Sherlock didn't like how distressed John looked. Sherlock quickly closed the distance between him and John and embraced him, he had read about how hugs can decrease anxiety and stress levels during his research on hugs. John momentarily tensed away from the hug but soon had his arms wrapped around Sherlock.

Sherlock found slouching over John to hug him to feel slightly awkward, he wanted to be closer to John, always closer. So Sherlock essentially climbed onto John's lap, John leaned back to make room and before either of them knew it Sherlock was laying on top of John, both of them not particularly caring out of a desire to maintain the hug.

John was surprised by how comfortable this was, Sherlock's face gently nuzzled in his shoulder. John decided he would be adventurous, he brought his hand up and began to play with the genius's soft curls. Sherlock was practically purring, they laid there for a while just snuggling.

* * *

Moriarty was unimpressed, _very_ unimpressed, he knew that Moran was plotting against him, but he had hoped that he would at least be a little more careful. Did he forget that Moriarty was a spider _**who knew how every strand of his web operates**_? The fact that he would _actually_ have the _**audacity**_ to betray him in such a blatant way and expect **him** _**not**_ to notice was truly baffling, and so incredibly ordinary, who did he think he was playing with? He would have to punish Moran, teach him not to play games, or at least to play _fun_ games. But right now he had to fix the problems he had caused, normally he would get Moran to do it but he'd have to do it without Moran as he was getting too bold in his deceptions.

Moriarty sighed as he pulled out his lap top and began typing away at the computer. It would have been so much more fun had the man been murdered but he knew he could find a way to use this mishap to his benefit. Now Carter was scared, and nothing puts more power in Moriarty's hands than fear. Carter knew exactly what Moriarty was capable of; he'd be trying to get security for his family, _after all __**their**_ safety was what mattered _most _to him. _Aren't ordinary people adorable? They all care __**so**__ much. _Moriarty laughed to himself. Carter would do exactly as he was told once he discovered that those wonderful security systems and security officers he had paid so much for had been infiltrated by Moriarty's network.

He still had the problem that a few of his best employees had been detained. Easily solved, but still, it was inconvenient at best. He typed away at the computer for a few more moments then sat back as he received email after email confirming his orders and reporting back to him. He really had to fix Moran before he caused him any more trouble. Time to pay a visit to Aggy, Moriarty smiled to himself. In fact, he didn't even have to go get her, she would just come to him at his call. That made it all the more sweet.

He pulled out his mobile and sent off a quick standard text to her: _Be here within the hour._

He didn't wait for a reply as he didn't expect to receive one, she would just show up within the hour. He supposed that he did enjoy that characteristic, no needless chit-chat. She was probably aware that he didn't care for her. _So_ many people had _no_ clue, and would talk to him as though he cared, he'd play along and use it against them; they'd think he cared, when really he was just passing the time until he got what he wanted, it was all so ordinary. He stood up, he had to get her ambush prepared. If he was lucky, she'd even send off an alarming text just in time, which would leave Moran feeling anxious.

Moriarty smiled, yes that was a nice thought. Moran would panic over the safety of his dear, poor sister, the only person he ever really cared about. He'd rush off to find Sherlock, to get his help and in his panic he'd get sloppy, Moriarty would have his men pick Moran up before he could reach Sherlock and then Moriarty would have the fun of breaking him. That always was his favorite part.

* * *

Aggy looked down at her phone at the text she had just received. She would bring her gun as chances were he was going to send her out on an urgent assignment, she also brought it because she genuinely did not trust Moriarty. She would do all the horrible assignments he asked of her, even when he asked her to "go undercover" she did that, even when he asked her to use people's emotions against them, gain their love and affection. She would do it, he always paid well and the people he usually sent her after generally were ass wholes. She didn't regret working for him, but should anyone ask her to trust him, well that was impossible. She had seen the things he had done, to all sorts of people, including his own operatives. She would take her gun with her and be on the defensive the entire time she was there.

* * *

Aggy walked up the stairs to Moriarty's main office where she knew he'd be waiting, her head tilted slightly to the side to listen for any unusual sounds. Seeing as she knew what her brother was up to it wasn't terribly likely that Moriarty didn't. Aggy put her hand on the doorknob to pull it open then suddenly felt a sharp pinch in her side. She sighed as she felt herself begin to collapse, _of course_ was all she had time to think to herself.

Moriarty stood over Aggy's unconscious body and smiled manically. He reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile, skimming through her texts with her brother he decided to send off a quick text to him since she didn't have the time to do it. He then nodded to his men to take her away to the interrogation room.

* * *

Moran's mobile buzzed in his pocket, he reached in, took it out and read the text message: _sdoghwghkjghck;mvnowie naorih_.

Moran looked at the message with furrowed brows, what the hell? What was Aggy doing, that wasn't even remotely close to resembling their code. Moran didn't have much time to ponder over the message as his phone buzzed again, he read the new message: _You've been a naughty boy, sexy ;)_

Moran's eyes widened, Moriarty had his sister. Or it was possible he simply had her phone and was trying to scare him into doing something stupid. Moran knew how Moriarty worked, feeding off of fear to get his way. This may very well be a test to see if Moran had a guilty conscious. He did his best to dismiss the message, but he couldn't stop the nagging feeling in his gut. Moriarty was setting a trap and Moran wouldn't bite.

Instead, Moran decided to busy himself with work, various preparations. If Moriarty had Aggy's phone he could still message her online. He sent off a quick message to her, just to make sure she really was safe, it was short, curt and translated it read: _Moriarty got your phone again?_

The message he received in response was not what he was hoping it would be: _Yes, darling, he also has me. Silly. _

Moran sat back in his seat and tried to control his breathing.

Another message: _You're so cute when you're scared._

Moran stood and threw his computer across the room where it broke against the wall with a satisfying crash. Moran straightened his posture and again attempted to regain control over his breathing. His phone buzzed. He really didn't want to check it, but he knew he'd have to eventually: _Don't worry about coming to me, I'm sending some people to pick you up ;) _

Moran was in his coat quicker than ever, tossing his mobile to the side, he'd have to move quickly and discretely. This was not good, this was very bad. Moran could move very quickly considering how large he was but he wasn't sure if he could move quickly enough to avoid Moriarty's men. He considered taking back allies and side roads, avoiding the main streets; but it wasn't long before he realized what a horrible idea that was. Yes, it could be easier to avoid Moriarty's men, but he would also avoid pedestrians. Moran knew that despite Moriarty's flair for dramatics, when it came to abduction he generally preferred subtlety, the dramatics would come in later. The thought brought Aggy back into his mind, what kind of dramatics was she currently facing?

He rushed down the main streets, he didn't bother with his car or motorcycle, just ran. It was best to avoid anything that could possibly explode under him or trap him inside, cabs were out of the question He had to get to 221B quickly. He internally debated between taking an indirect route, and decreasing the chances of Moriarty's men being able to ambush him on the streets, or just taking the direct route and decrease the time required to get there.

* * *

Sherlock and John jerked awake very suddenly at the sound of their flat door bursting open. Sherlock and John had fallen asleep in each other's arms. John almost laughed as he tried to steady his breathing, "I'm guessing that's a client. I'll go settle Isabella down." He said once he had calmed a little and realized that Isabella had begun to cry upstairs. He had just opened the door when he saw Moran prepared to knock on the bedroom door. "Sebastian?"

Moran nodded, clearly out of breath. Sherlock came up behind John and arched an eyebrow, "You knock on the bedroom door, but not to gain entrance to the flat?" he narrowed his eyes as he examined Moran's current appearance, taking the time to read every detail.

"Didn't know what you two would be doing in there." Moran answered casually with a bit of a smirk.

Sherlock glared slightly and John blushed before he cleared his throat, "well, right. I'm going to go check on Isabella because if no one else has noticed, she's crying." John quickly made his way upstairs where he picked Isabella up and gently hummed to sooth her.

Moran and Sherlock looked at each other in silence for a while before Moran spoke up, "Moriarty has Aggy."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly and his mouth dropped millimeters, "Ah."

Moran missed the reaction in his agitation and seemed to be waiting for more of a response from Sherlock as they stood there in silence a few more moments before Moran finally exclaimed, impatience evident in his voice, "Are we going to just stand here, or are you going to help me?!"

Sherlock nodded as he swiftly went into the living room where he brought out the hard wooden chair reserved for clients. "Here, sit, tell me what happened. Please don't leave out any information."

Moran gladly took the seat as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Aggy's the only person that I've ever _really_ cared about. I didn't know my mom, and my dad was a twat. I joined the military, blah, blah, blah, can I assume you already know about my back ground and how I got here?"

Sherlock nodded, "I may ask more questions once you're done."

Moran nodded solemnly, "I've been planning to take over Moriarty's operation for a few years now, as you probably already know."

Sherlock nodded again and John descended the stairs, cradling Isabella in his arms, and sat in his seat to listen to Moran's story.

Moran continued, "It was about a year and a half after your fall Sherlock- that I decided to try to take over Moriarty's web. He had sent Aggy off to seduce you, John and I was getting pretty tired of the games he plays with people, business is one thing, but Moriarty-"

John looked up in angered confusion, "Wait, what?!"

Moran looked at Sherlock, both men's faces contorted in a grimace, "You didn't tell him?"

Sherlock shook his head minutely, John's eyes widened, "Wait, Sherlock, told me what?"

Sherlock rolled his lips into a thin line, "Agatha Grace Rachelle Addams, she shares her mother's maiden name, also known as Mary Morstan, she is his sister, your wife."

John gawked at Sherlock for a few moments while Moran awkwardly sat in the chair waiting for this to pass, "His sister? My wife? You knew? What? How much did you know? Did you know that she had been an agent sent to _seduce_ me?" John's anger began to flare up and Isabella started to make pre-cry sobbing sounds, which effectively dampened John's temper. John felt like he couldn't breathe, he decided to keep his eyes focused on Isabella, the one good thing he had right now, and try not to think about any of the other damage currently wreaking havoc in his life.

"I'm sorry, John. I thought you knew." Moran spoke up, John simply shook his head and frowned as he tried to keep from crying. "You're one of the only decent people I know, I tried to stop Moriarty but when he gets an idea in his head, there's not heaven or hell that can stop him. So I decided that was the last straw, I would begin planning to take over. His fixation on you two is unhealthy and I wanted to stop it."

"And gain control over multimillions of dollars in crime?" John gave a dry laugh.

Moran nodded, "I won't pretend to be a good person, I want the money, but I'm rich enough just as an employee, I don't _need_ to take over. I have a problem with Moriarty and how he does business." John again laughed sardonically, Moran continued slightly offended, "Kill people, rob 'em, do business, but keep it business. Moriarty was just toying with you for the sake of it, just because it's fun, and worse, he was using my sister for it."

"It didn't matter that you're the one who set her up to work for him?" Sherlock's voice was cold as he pried for more information.

Moran scowled, "She was supposed to _only_ do wet work. She was in a bind and that was the only way I could think to help her at the time."

Suddenly a realization hit John, "Wait, your sister is still alive." Moran nodded, looking slightly confused. John turned to Sherlock who was currently avoiding eye contact, "Did you know Mary's still alive? Oh god! You knew! You totally knew! You utter cock!" John felt like he was going to throw up, "Hold your niece!" he handed Isabella to Moran as he ran into the bathroom to have a moment.

Sherlock sat there silently looking somewhat like a beaten puppy, _John handed Isabella of to a criminal before you; you're just the psychopath- not even a sociopath anymore- of a flat mate that solves crimes to avoid doing drugs._ He internally scolded himself.

Moran looked up at Sherlock with a surprisingly consoling expression on his face. Sherlock simply scowled in return. "I didn't realize he didn't know." Moran tried to make appeasement, a happy Sherlock was more likely to help him.

Sherlock continued to scowl, his voice caught momentarily in his throat, "I didn't know how to tell him. I just…" Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he tried to find the right words, "I don't want him to hurt anymore." Sherlock shook his head, he sounded stupid and he hated himself for it.

Moran seemed to understand though and nodded. "No one likes what happened." Moran seemed to think for a second, "I suppose I could have simply shot Moriarty in the head, I've had enough chances." He almost laughed at the thought, "but then my financial stability would have suffered. So I let it happen." He looked down to Isabella, "I suppose there's a silver lining in everything." He smiled as Isabella smiled and laughed while she looked up at him with big eyes.

Sherlock nodded, it all may be wrong, but surely Isabella was a good thing.

* * *

A/N: As you can tell Carter's the guy Moriarty wanted to kill, it would have been more of a "to send a message" murder than anything, but he's kind of irrelevant to the main plot so I didn't go into it. (I might give you more information about how Sherlock saved John later, I might not :P ) Hope you're enjoying reading :) thanks for the reviews, the follows, and the favorites :)


	15. Chapter 15: Bad News, Good News

Chapter 15: Bad News, Good News

First they drew straws; no one wanted to be the one to tell Moriarty that they had let Moran escape to 221B Baker Street where he was now consulting with Sherlock. Each man of the team sent out knew that the bearer of bad news was a dead man_ if he was lucky_.

Just as the first man was about to pull a straw from the hand, another man put his hand over all the straws, "wait, guys…" he sounded hesitant, "what if we…" he looked around to see if anyone could be listening in, "what if we… just don't tell him?"

The entire group of men leaned back in shock and a blond man spoke up, "what do you _mean_ 'just don't tell him?' He'll **skin us alive!**"

The gears seemed to be working in a slightly shorter man's mind, "Wait, okay Roger, we'll give your idea some thought." Roger seemed pleased at this, and then the shorter man took each member of the group aside to talk to without Roger hearing. "Let's give him to the boss, we'll tell him he was the reason for Moran's escape and that he wanted to run and he wanted to take us all with him."

Everyone seemed to consider this for a moment, then as everyone slowly started nodding the blond man spoke up again, "Okay. Better him than me, I say. But how are we going to go about this?"

The shorter man seemed to consider this; they all looked over at Roger who was waiting not so patiently. Slowly Roger looked more and more scared, he could see the potential betrayal in his co-worker's eyes, he ran. Or at least he tried to run anyway but before he could make his escape his legs had been shot, a stray bullet hit his lower abdomen, and he was being dragged in the direction of Moriarty's office. Roger screamed out, begged them not to take him to Moriarty, spat and drooled as he begged them to just put a bullet in his brain; he sobbed and struggled to get free, tears and mucus flowing from his face, but his wounds kept him from escape. Anything else, he would take anything else; just don't make him face Moriarty.

Roger was thrown to the ground, kneeling on Moriarty's office floor; he nearly curled up on himself to escape the agony in his legs and abdomen, he didn't want to look up at Moriarty's face. Moriarty simply looked down at the bleeding man on his office floor, scoffed, rolled his eyes then moaned, "Macassar Ebony." He couldn't help but think of his poor floors; silly employees getting someone's blood all over them. He stepped forward to inspect the prisoner, it obviously wasn't Moran. Oh! It's Roger, "what have you done, Roger?" Moriarty sang as he lifted Roger's face so he could look into his eyes.

Roger averted eye contact, well that was just _rude_. He expected better from his employees, Moriarty grabbed Roger's face with a much firmer grip, snapping the bleeding man's attention to him. "I'm not sure what happened, sir." Roger managed to sob out; his entire body had begun to quiver.

"Well that's unfortunate." Moriarty pouted, "It's also unfortunate that you're not Moran, I was expecting Moran." By this time Roger was shaking uncontrollably, "I would have preferred Moran." Moriarty accentuated his point over and over, "What happened?"

Roger looked up, then to all the men standing around him. Everyone's attention was on him, he was expected to answer, "I… I don't know, sir."

"**NEITHER DO I!** That's why I'm asking, dear." Moriarty smiled which only went to unnerve Roger even more.

The shorter man from before stepped forward to speak, "Sir…" but was cut off by the livid expression on Moriarty's face.

"I was asking Roger here, **not YOU.**" Moriarty returned his attention to Roger who was steadily palling, having great difficulty keeping his head up; he just wanted to go to sleep, just sleep and never wake up. He knew he'd never be able to wake up from this nightmare, so he just wanted to sleep. Moriarty kept his hands on Roger's face, preventing him from looking down, "come now, Roger. Answer me, you won't want to see what happens to me when I'm ignored. I _so_ dislike being ignored." Moriarty's voice dropped low and dangerous.

Roger felt like he was choking, he couldn't breathe, he wanted to throw up but without anything in his stomach he just ended up dry heaving a few times before he answered "We got there, but he had already left."

Moriarty was getting bored, "Yes _obviously_."

"We tracked him through the streets, he took the main roads just like you said." Moriarty nodded along with manic passion, _yes, yes, get on with it!_ Why must Roger test his patience so? Roger choked a few more times before he continued, "He was surprisingly agile, sir. He moved through the crowds and we had a hard time keeping up. Before we knew it he was at 221B, he practically smashed the door down. We just couldn't follow him." Tears streamed down Roger's face, he just wanted to give up already.

"What a boring story," Moriarty pouted, "luckily we can have more fun with you later!" Moriarty smiled a cruel grin then dropped his voice in a command, "take him to the other room." His men obeyed and Roger was dragged out of Moriarty's office.

Moriarty sighed then sent a few commands over a text, within moments a few men rushed into the room and began to thoroughly clean the floors.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs of 221B and peaked into the flat, "Woo hoo? Do any of you boys know what happened to my front door?" She pointed in the general direction of the offending door that was considerably more difficult to open than before. "I had bloody difficult time getting in here with that thing." She lightly scolded.

Moran put up his hand as he continued to hold Isabella with his other arm, "Erm, that would've been me, ma'am. I'm afraid I was in quite a rush to get in off the streets and away from the murderers who were chasing me. I will pay for the cost of the repairs." Moran managed a small smile as he looked up at the woman who had gone from stern landlady to loving mother mode in a matter of moments.

"Murderers!"

Moran nodded.

"Oh dear, don't worry about a thing, Sherlock will help you sort things. He always does." She dismissed as she turned to leave again, only peaking back into the flat to add, "I'll have John send you the bill and you can just deal with it whenever you're ready." Her voice was casual but had a slightly stern edge to it; she then returned downstairs to her own flat.

Moran looked to Sherlock, "What are we going to do?"

Sherlock sat in his chair with his fingers peaked in a pyramid below his chin as he watched Moran with Isabella, "You're so smart; why don't you just figure it out?"

Moran scowled at Sherlock, "because I'm angry, and scared, and we both know what that does to a person's cognitive functions, don't we?"

Sherlock frowned and nodded, he was being petty. Moran had come here for help, and he was underhandedly insulting him for things beyond either of their control. Sherlock just wished he could figure out how to make John forgive him, his mind was stuck on that and he needed to be able to process all the information that was being handed to him.

"So you and John, eh?" Moran interrupted his thoughts.

"Hardly relevant to the case." Sherlock dismissed.

"It is when you can't stop thinking about him." Moran was having difficulties keeping a straight face.

Sherlock scowled, Moran knew nothing, "I'm thinking about the case."

"No you're not." Moran's predatory grin looked almost smug.

"Why would I be thinking of John?" Sherlock scowled at himself, he sounded too defensive.

Moran continued to smile, "Because you're in love with him?"

Sherlock scoffed, he was already being over defensive, might as well continue with the trend he had started, "No. That's ridiculous."

Moran shrugged, but continued to smile, "That's too bad, because I'm pretty sure John's in love with you."

Sherlock couldn't keep the excitement from his voice, "He is?"

Moran mocked a sigh and shrugged again, "Yea, it's just too bad for the poor guy that you don't feel the same."

Sherlock found himself panicking at the thought, "What? No! I mean." Sherlock dropped his head into his hands, things would be so much easier if his mind palace didn't just automatically save John and back up all the information, if he could just delete his _feelings_. "I just want John to be safe and happy, here with Isabella."

"And here with you?" Moran pressed, he didn't like seeing John upset, but he didn't see why he couldn't have some fun with the curly haired genius. The fact that John stood just behind watching the whole thing was also entertaining, he was still scowling at Moran from when Moran said John loved Sherlock. The most entertaining fact, however, was that Sherlock didn't even notice John was standing only a few feet behind him. He must be _really_ stressed out, maybe he could get Sherlock to admit he loves John. Moran smirked at the thought.

Sherlock looked up at Moran who was barely managing to keep a straight face, "You're enjoying this."

"No…"

"Yes, you're definitely _enjoying_ this. I don't understand, what's in it for you, why do you care?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked Moran over thoroughly.

Moran managed to maintain eye contact with the genius currently studying him, if he looked at John the game would be over, and he did have to admit he _loved_ playing games with people- just not to the morbid extent that Moriarty did. He shrugged, "nothing's in it for me, just you two make a cute couple."

"You mean _would_ make a cute couple. To say that we _make_ a cute couple insinuates that we currently _are_ a couple."

Moran smiled and nodded, then looked down at Isabella, "Aren't your fathers so silly? They don't even know they're dating yet."

John in the background scowled at Moran and Sherlock did the same. Moran laughed at the synchronization. "Just admit you love him and I'll drop the subject. You never know, you might even feel better after."

"I hardly think I would feel better after that."

Moran smiled, "So you admit that you love him, you just don't want to say it out loud."

Sherlock was getting tired of this, Moran's childish debating skills. He was going to go get John and stop this nonsense. Moran would be less likely to pry when John was around. Sherlock stood up swiftly and turned to face John. Both men froze, looking quite a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Moran's smile widened.

"John." was all that left Sherlock's lips in the form of a whisper.

John stared up at Sherlock and as he licked his lips he glanced at Sherlock's. Sherlock could feel his own heart beating, his breathing increased, he could only imagine his pupils had dilated; John's were, he wanted to step closer to John, but he seemed to have forgotten how to move his legs.

"Do you?" John found himself asking before he could stop himself.

A curious expression flashed momentarily across Sherlock's face, "Do I what?" It seemed as though John had intruded on some very complex thought processes because Sherlock seemed utterly lost in the conversation.

John was having trouble finding his voice, butterflies flipping around in his stomach, he wanted to ask if Sherlock loved him but instead all he said was, "Never mind."

Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily, he felt nauseated, he couldn't deal with the current situation but his legs still weren't working. Sherlock was no longer in control of himself, before he knew it he reached out and grabbed John's passing shoulder, steadying John in place. Sherlock's eyes were closed. He couldn't look at John, he was so embarrassed. _Damned emotions_.

"Then why…" John's voice was cracking as though he were about to cry, "why did you let me get married to someone else?" John's emotions were raw and cracked from the news of his wife's survival, and her current predicament, not to mention that Sherlock _knew_ she was alive. He was going to have a hard time forgiving Sherlock for that.

Sherlock felt like he was choking on his feelings, he managed a shrug.

"No, no. Sherlock, you _always_ have a reason for _everything_ you do. Don't tell me you don't know." John found himself pointing aggressively at Sherlock who still wouldn't look at him, why wouldn't he look at him? "Look at me." John said as more of a gasp than anything else.

Sherlock looked up, and with a breathy voice he managed to say, "Because I thought you didn't want me." He looked like a sad puppy dog, it hurt John's heart to see.

John managed to nod, at the time it would have been impossible for Sherlock to stop him from staying with Mary; but when she shot him, he would have come back, Sherlock needed only to ask, but he never did. "I admit, it can be hard to trust you." John shrugged. Sherlock dropped his hand from John's shoulder, he felt like he was being shot all over again; John couldn't trust him, he would never love him, Sherlock would have to find a way to get past it and be John's best friend again; he had made a vow to always be there for John. "But that doesn't mean I don't love you, Sherlock." John found himself slightly out of breath; these things were always so hard to say, "When you died I was so hurt, I was…" John cleared his throat, "…broken. Then you came back like nothing happened, so I clung to what I had built without you." Sherlock nodded; he understood that, that was the reason he had let John go to be with Mary. "Don't ever do that to me again." John commanded as he finally closed the distance and hugged the love of his life. "And don't ever lie to me again," he mumbled into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock hugged back right away. The contact with John freeing Sherlock from his temporary immobile state, he didn't say how he didn't actually lie to John, that he just omitted certain facts. Sherlock had learned through his time with John that the two can essentially be the same. Moran smiled widely as he watched them hug it out, then he cleared his throat, "this is lovely guys, but to my knowledge Moriarty still has my sister." Moran thought about how this development and his assistance in their reconciliation would make the couple more pliable to assist him in the future; even when he wasn't exactly on the moral side of a conflict.

"Oh, right!" John went to break the hug, but Sherlock wouldn't have it. Instead Sherlock picked John up and sat down in his chair with John sitting in his lap. John was physically comfortable, in fact he was pretty sure he was probably the most comfortable he'd ever been in his life, excluding their snuggling on the bed; but he felt awkward about the situation given that they were with Isabella along with a client, an old friend, and a criminal. "Erm, Sherlock." John tried to stand up to go sit in his own seat, but Sherlock had a surprisingly strong grip. John would rather not snuggle in front of prying eyes.

"No, I think better with you here."

"In your lap?!"

"Moran, tell us all you know." Sherlock decided against acknowledging John's question in favor of asking Moran his own questions.

* * *

A/N: Don't worry, Moran is here to save the day! Johnlock's his OTP, he won't let that ship sink! :P (also, it helps that if Sherlock and John like him they'll be more likely to be of use to him, he is a criminal mastermind plotting to take over Moriarty's web after all) Thanks for the reviews, favourites and follows! Thanks for reading! So much support, I love it! :D


	16. Chapter 16: Groundwork for a Reunion

Chapter 16: Groundwork for a Reunion

Aggy looked across the room to where Roger sat, she couldn't help but smirk a little. Of course her brother would be a hard one to catch, was Moriarty _really_ such a fool to think it would be easy? Now with Roger here some of the attention and focus should be alleviated from her. She didn't get her hopes up though, they may just neglect him for a while, giving him the bare minimum of food and water in this completely dark room with nothing but Aggy's screams to keep him company; a nice precursor to what he would soon experience. She slowly sighed, carefully to avoid straining her fractured ribs; it had been nice to have a little hope, even if it was just for a second.

The door opened slowly letting in enough light that she had to turn her head, retinas burning from disuse, she managed to get a glimpse at how pale and sickly Roger had gotten, his face marred with bruises and dried tear tracks and snot. He wasn't looking very good, he was shaking and quivering like he'd been left out in a snow storm. "You'll have to deal with his bullet wounds if you want him to be of any use to you later." She voiced as she heard Moriarty's approaching footsteps.

"Hmmm," Moriarty considered the thought, "I suppose you're right." He hummed melodiously, "Then again it's not really _him_ that I care about right now."

"You want my brother." Aggy was curt and to the point; she always had been, it had been the one thing about her that Moriarty actually _liked_. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before he had her sniveling. Moriarty nodded knowing she'd be able to see his silhouette in the dark room. "I would imagine he went to visit myloving husband." She couldn't help but smirk slightly in the darkness of the room.

"Oh isn't that lovely? A nice little family reunion?" Moriarty paced the room slightly then turned so he stood directly in front of her, looking down at the shadow amongst the darkness. "You were supposed to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't choose Johnny boy over me. You failed at your job, and _what_ do you _think_ we should _do_ about that?" Moriarty's voice was cold and melodic in the darkness.

Aggy scoffed slightly, rolling her eyes in the dimness of the room, "He didn't choose _John_ over you. He just didn't choose **you**." Her voice was sweet despite the pain and irritation.

Moriarty sneered, he didn't like how disrespectful she was being, _did she know where she was and with __**who**__ she was with?_ He'd change the subject "What are his plans?" An unoriginal question, he must admit, but a necessary none the less.

Aggy smiled, "Do you really think his old plans are still relevant? He's not stupid, he's going to have to change them now."

"Well he did try to betray _me_. So I can't be sure as to the **full** extent of his stupidity." Aggy scowled before Moriarty continued with a sigh as he turned and walked to the other end of the room, "Why must everyone be so _ordinary?"_

"I think I know why _you're_ so ordinary."

Moriarty's eyes widened in anger as he quickly turned on her, his face so close she could feel his breath beating against her. If she timed it just right she'd be able to bite his nose off, but his face was out of reach before she took her chance and instead she ended up just biting the empty air that his face formerly occupied. Moriarty laughed, "Oh! I never knew you could be so feisty, you've always seemed so _submissive_." He sighed and arched an eyebrow as Aggy ground her teeth together. Moriarty jabbed at Aggy's side and she let out a quick gasp of breath. "Oh good. They've done the ground work already." A gruesome smile grew across Moriarty's face as he walked in circles around where Aggy was bound to a chair.

Aggy found herself internally panicking, she had never prepared someone for torture with Moriarty. She'd never been a part of that process. If she ever had to torture on a job it was her duty, she never had to bring anyone back before. She found herself afraid at all the unknown possibilities. Fortunately for her, she managed to internalize her fear, showing none of it to Moriarty as he approached her in a slow menacing manner.

Moriarty very suddenly jabbed his fingers into Aggy's ribs, she tried to move away but she was bound tightly to a study chair which effectively immobilized her. He was tickling her! She strained to breath, and control her body but she couldn't; her body erupted in fits of laughter causing her ribs and chest to shake making her feel _every_ fracture and bruise in her body. She laughed and gasped, tears streamed down her cheeks, "Stop!" She had heard of tickle torture before, but she never thought anyone _actually_ used it, nor would she have thought that it would be so effective.

Moriarty didn't stop, he continued to tickle her ribs as he questioned her, "Are you going to tell me your brother's plans?"

She just wanted it to stop, she was desperate. She would lie to him to make it stop, it was dark in the room and she was a good liar, she was pretty sure she could get away with it for at least a little had been the plan after all. She gave him the names of a few loyalists that she figured were reasonable to doubt. If he bit her bait it would remove some of her brother's obstacles and help get her out of this room that much quicker, if not… well, more tickling she supposed.

Moriarty seemed to consider the information she gave him for a moment then continued to tickle her. She choked out between laughs that she wasn't lying, that it was the truth and that he should go look into these people if he wanted to stop her brother. Moriarty looked down at her with a sneer, "I didn't expect _you_ to break _that_ easily." Before Aggy had a chance to respond, Moriarty was out of the room.

Moriarty seemed too skeptical at her early 'breaking', Aggy panicked internally at the thought that it wouldn't work; they really should have had more time to plan this out. She hoped that her brother was still doing what he needed to and didn't get scared from the premature start.

* * *

Moriarty closed the door, "I want this room _constantly_ monitored. Nothing happens in that room between those two without my knowledge." He muttered as he strode down the hall. One of his employees nodded in response. He had to look into some people and their movements.

* * *

Moran slept uncomfortably on the couch that was too short to fit his entire body. Neither Sherlock nor John wanted to offer him John's old bed that was still upstairs where Isabella slept, they didn't want him alone with her. "If he's still here tomorrow I'll bring Isabella's crib down into our room so we'll know she's safe." John muttered up to Sherlock who stood behind him.

Sherlock nodded in response and tightened his grip around John's waist ever so slightly.

"You don't have to worry about leaving Isabella unattended around me, John. I am her uncle after all." Moran's voice was groggy from sleep, his arm still flopped over his eyes to block out the new morning light that was streaming in on him from the windows. "I'm a little offended." He slowly began to sit up, his body cracking and aching from a poor night's sleep.

"The fact that you are her uncle is irrelevant." Sherlock dismissed, he was about to continue when John cut in.

"I think we should phone Lestrad today, let him know what's going on. Maybe he could help?"

Sherlock nodded and Moran scoffed, "Yes, they can help throw me and Aggy in prison! John, are you serious? This is a delicate matter." Moran dropped his sleepy face into his hands and pleaded, "Please, I just want to know Aggy's safe, I don't want her to go to prison, I just want her safe."

John nodded but Sherlock narrowed his eyes, Sherlock was still skeptical of Moran and his motivations. Sherlock grabbed his phone and sent off a few texts to his homeless network to see if Moran's sister had been seen wondering around the streets anywhere. First he would confirm an abduction had _actually_ taken place, then he would consider how to go about solving their little problem.

Moran looked at Sherlock texting. He could see the skepticism in Sherlock's eyes, all though he was considerably softer towards Moran now that he could hug John as much as he wanted. Moran found himself almost endeared by the fact that Sherlock hadn't let go of John since their hug last night; he was definitely pleased that Sherlock stopped blatantly insulting him and was trying to keep it more to himself now.

"Is there any food in the house?" Moran voiced, he was tired and hungry, and his side of the plan wasn't going along _quite_ as well as he would have hoped. He really wished that he had more time to plan this stuff out, it had all happened too soon. He would have needed _more_ time, instead his time had been cut off short and now he was genuinely scared and things weren't going as he wanted. By his plan he should have had another two months to properly butter up John and Sherlock.

John sighed, "No, there almost never is." He scowled at Sherlock slightly.

Sherlock hugged John tighter and offered to order a takeaway.

* * *

Moriarty sneered as he looked at his computer screen; there was _just_ enough evidence to suggest that Aggy had been telling the truth, but _just_ enough lack of evidence to suggest she was lying. He didn't trust anyone. That's what had always kept him safe. He didn't trust Aggy to tell the truth, but he didn't trust Lester (one of his favorites) to be completely loyal, everyone had a weakness. There had been a time when Moriarty had almost fooled himself into thinking that Moran was completely loyal, it had only been for a second. But still, the _sentiment_ had been there.

Moriarty thought for a few moments, oh he knew what to do. He needed to stop treating this like a problem and start treating it like a _game!_ He sent out a few texts carrying his commands, he would wait and watch. The truth would reveal itself, it always did. They were going to have so much fun!

The door was very abruptly opened very widely. The light drenched the room, staining the walls and burning both Aggy and Roger's retinas. Both shut their eyes tight as they turned their heads away from the source of their pain. Roger had more difficulty than Aggy, her chair was facing away from the door in the first place while his faced directly at it.

Suddenly two men were unbinding Aggy from the chair she had been sitting in for however long she had been there, hoisted her up and began to remove her from the room. She had been sitting in her own waste due to the laxative she received upon her arrival here and it dripped uncomfortably down her legs as they dragged her away. She was going to die; she was in too much pain to _really_ care, she couldn't fight them off. Not now, not in her condition, but she would go out with as much pride as she could muster, she wouldn't snivel or beg.

She was lead outside, and carelessly tossed into the back seat of a car which had plastic covering the interior; hardly a comforting sight, was it for her waste that currently soaked her pants or was it for her blood? She didn't know if she cared right now. She looked out the tinted windows to see they were heading towards 221B, if they thought she couldn't figure it out where they were going they were all fools. She had been married to a man obsessed with the address's inhabitants, she always knew when they were heading in the direction of the infamous flat.

Were they going to kill her on the doorsteps of the flat? That certainly _would_ send a message to Sherlock, John and her brother. It would also antagonize them even more, make them more determined. The car pulled up to the curb of 221B Baker Street and she was essentially tossed out of the car onto the sidewalk, her body landed in a painful crumble. She couldn't help but scream out once, the pain was overwhelming, she managed to stop her screaming but tears still streamed down her cheeks. She looked up to see the car driving away, what? They weren't going to kill her? Or just not right now? She supposed she should be thankful.

* * *

John had finally convinced Sherlock to let go of him when he needed to use the washroom, but not before he had to assure and reassure him that he wouldn't leave or change his mind just because they're not hugging anymore. John was sitting at the table with Moran as they ate and Sherlock gazed out the window. He looked down as an injured brunette was carelessly dropped on their doorstep. "We need to call an ambulance." He turned and rushed down the stairs and opened the door to see Mary- or Aggy- crumbled on the pavement with labored breathing.

John and Moran showed up only a moment later, Aggy looked up with tear stained cheeks and saw the three men standing in the doorway of 221B. "My ribs are broken." She managed to choke out amidst the unusual silence that had descended on Baker Street; everyone's attention, including that of the random passers-by, had been turned to her. Moran rushed around John and Sherlock to try to relieve some of his sister's weight from her broken bones. He sat next to her and supported her fragile body while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

John simply stared at his wife in utter shock, to know she was alive and kidnapped was one thing but to see it, well that was entirely different business. John's heart wrenched around in his chest, he struggled to stay calm. He stood military straight as he tried to breathe.

Sherlock watched John as he struggled to cope with his emotions. He wanted to console John, but he was unsure as to how. He searched his mind palace for all the information he had gathered about intimacy and consoling loved ones to try to find the appropriate response. Sherlock decided a small gesture might be best, he reached down and held John's hand and did his best to give him an 'I'm here for you' smile. He knew he made the right decision when John looked up at him then back to the scene in front of them, giving Sherlock's hand a gentle squeeze.

* * *

A/N: tickle torture, yea, that's a thing. I feel it's very Moriarty … anyway, hope you guys are still enjoying! Thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites. Thanks for reading! :D


	17. Chapter 17: Reunions

Chapter 17: Reunions

John didn't go in the ambulance with Moran and _Aggy_, he and Sherlock would follow behind in a cab a little later. John had thought about joining them in the ambulance, but it just wouldn't have felt right. Mary had been gone for almost a year and he only recently discovered she was alive. He still felt betrayed, more betrayed than when he found out that Sherlock was still alive. He didn't know her anymore, he wondered if he ever really did. He was even still referring to her as Mary in his mind, he'd shake off the thought and correct himself; _her name is Agatha. Not Mary. She was one of my best army mate's little sisters and I never even knew. _He instinctively squeezed Sherlock's hand slightly and felt reassured when Sherlock gently squeezed back.

Sherlock and John had left Isabella in the care of Mrs. Hudson for now. They decided it would be best to leave her out of this for now; they could introduce Isabella to her mother once her mother had recovered partially from her wounds, or at least until they knew the extent of the damage. John looked out the window of the cab as Sherlock watched him think. John looked over to see the love of his life, his genius flat mate gazing at him with almost a pleading expression on his face. John gave a reassuring squeeze of the hand and had turned to look out the window again when Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, "Are you going to go back to her?" His normally silken baritone was broken and quiet with insecurities.

John shook his head, "I don't think I can. Not after everything that's happened."

"She and I have pretty much done the same thing." Sherlock knew it wasn't true, but he couldn't help but give John that small push. He thought John wanted to leave and just needed the motivation, he secretly thought that he wasn't good enough for John. Sherlock didn't have the heart to keep him if he didn't want to stay.

John looked at Sherlock like he was seeing him for the first time, "No. No you didn't. You left me to _stop_ Moriarty; she left me to _work for him._ The two are **not** the same and they never will be." John wondered to himself how Sherlock could really not understand that.

Sherlock nodded. He wanted to say so much, but he found he couldn't speak. He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk saying something wrong to make John leave.

John smiled, "You don't have to worry, Sherlock, I'm not going to leave you."

Sherlock found himself wanting to cry; he wouldn't though, instead he would hug John, hug him until they got to the hospital that Agatha had been taken to. Sherlock looked out the window; this wasn't the way to the hospital? The cab pulled over where the doors were torn open by Moriarty's men who were pulling them out of the cab interspersing punches as they pulled Sherlock and John out of the car and began to bind their wrists behind their backs. Sherlock and John struggled to get free but it was of no use. John ended up leaning forward against his captors as the men were a solid foot taller than him, holding his arms behind his back too high, and Sherlock ended up leaning back as his captors were slightly shorter.

Moriarty stepped out of the driver's seat in the cab and smiled a very self-satisfied smile. "Well boys, I hate to cut into your time with _lovely_ little Mary Morstan…" He turned to look at his men who had gathered around him then back to Sherlock and John who were being restrained, "… but that's not quite true, I'm very excited to see my boys again." His smile grew in size and he held out his arms as though he were going in for a group hug, he did not move any closer to his captives. John wanted nothing more to kill Moriarty right here and now for all his toying in people's lives. Why couldn't he just leave them alone?

John looked to Sherlock and was surprised at what he saw; Sherlock looked worried. _Sherlock Holmes_ was _**worried**_, he almost looked scared! John found himself being infinitely more unsettled by the fact Sherlock looked so concerned rather than the fact that Moriarty was playing with a hand gun.

Moriarty seemed to read everything on both Sherlock and John because he laughed quite hard for a while, "Oh, I do love it when you boys play along. It had been a little hard to get Sherlock to come out and play lately. So happy at home with his dear** Watson**," Moriarty scowled at John then smiled back at Sherlock, "but ever since I let it slip that _dear _little Mary was alive; well, he's been a much better sport about things. I think he doesn't want you to get hurt Johnny boy."

Sherlock managed to regain his composure, when John looked over to him again he saw again the classic mask of indifference that Sherlock so often wore. Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What do you want?"

Moriarty's excitement increased, "Oh, you already know what I want! I want you to come play."

Sherlock sighed, "I am playing. I'm on the case, what more do you want?"

Moriarty scowled, "not good enough my dear." He walked up close to John who wished he had just a little more movement so he could head-but the psychotic mastermind. Upon reconsideration, that probably wasn't the best plan. Moriarty smiled just inches from John's face, "So here's the plan." He took a few steps back and looked at Sherlock, "come play, properly. _Or…_ I'll find and kill _darling_ little Isabella." A wide grin, "Do you understand?"

John's complexion had drained of nearly all colour and his entire body stiffened as he looked to Sherlock who looked livid then back to Moriarty. Both John and Sherlock wanted to fight, they wanted to just destroy everyone here to protect Isabella, but neither could even move under the grasp of Moriarty's big goons. Sherlock systematically went through possible murder techniques with the least amount of evidence left behind, quick and clean. John's mind brought him a scrambled parade of messy, painful murder techniques to use on Moriarty, using all his medical knowledge in a twisted perverse fantasy.

Moriarty seemed pleased with the response, "Or maybe I won't." Both John and Sherlock looked at each other with confused faces, Moriarty rolled his eyes then explained, "There's much worse things in life than death. Keep that in mind." Moriarty's voice was stern as he stepped back into the cab and drove off.

One of the goons holding John thumped him on the top of his head with his elbow while the other cut the bonds holding him. The men holding Sherlock simply released him, they knew he wouldn't bother with them. He'd rush to make sure John was okay.

Sherlock rushed to where John had crumpled on the ground and was blinking tying to see straight while attempting to get up. "John?! John! Are you okay John?" Sherlock cradled John in his arms as he checked John's pupils and touched his face. Sherlock didn't want to risk another cab, and without having to ask he knew John didn't either. He pulled out his mobile and phone Lestrade.

* * *

Lestrade brought John and Sherlock to the hospital where Sherlock insisted that John get checked out. John insisted that he was fine, that it was only a bump on the head. Sherlock was incessant and wouldn't let him pass the entry hall without submitting to a checkup, Lestrade couldn't help but side with Sherlock, if John had a concussion it was best they find out. John was annoyed; they needed to go check on Moran and Mary… or Agatha. John still didn't know if he should call her Mary or he should call her Agatha.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade rushed towards the room in which Moran and Agatha currently occupied, Sherlock asked Lestrade to wait outside. Lestrade nodded and took a seat in the hall. Moran greeted them in a slightly unconventional way, "They broke and fractured most of her ribs. She'll be on bed rest for quite a while." Sherlock and John nodded then Moran continued, "Moriarty tickled her." Moran stated it without any conveyed emotion, Sherlock couldn't help but suspect Moran found the notion funny, but the actual action abhorrent. Both John and Sherlock simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Sherlock didn't know how to ask without sounding cold so he just went with cold; he knew everyone in the room would understand even if they didn't like it, "Did she have any new information?"

Moran nodded, "But she hasn't told me yet, she wanted to wait for you to get here so that she wouldn't have to repeat herself." Sherlock nodded, sensible of her. "What took you two so long anyway?" He looked to John who had already taken the seat farthest from the hospital bed, he looked like shit.

"We met up with Moriarty." Sherlock dismissed as he took the seat closest to where Aggy was sleeping, "How long as she been asleep?"

"About twenty minutes, they gave her a sedative."

Sherlock nodded, stood and walked over to John where he put a hand on his shoulder, "She'll be asleep for a while. We should go." He turned to Moran, "Let us know when she's awake; I can keep the police out for now." John hesitantly stood and followed Sherlock where they joined Lestrade in the hall.

"Who's in there?" Lestrade asked.

John and Sherlock looked at each other. John was too tired for this and simply sat down in one of the chairs in the hallway. Sherlock looked at John for permission to tell, John nodded. "The woman formerly known as Mary Watson."

Lestrade's eyes widened and a pale complexion took over his face as he looked from Sherlock to John to see if they were serious, "I thought she was dead!"

Sherlock nodded, "Someone certainly wanted us to think so." Sherlock decided against revealing the whole truth, he didn't want to demonize his friend's formerly deceased wife.

Lestrade crossed his arms and leaned back slightly as he processed the information, "So by someone do we mean Moriarty?" Sherlock nodded. "I'll have people keep an eye on the room. We'll let you know when she wakes up. I'd like to question her whe-"

"No, Lestrade, I'll question her and I don't want any police going _in_ the room. No one goes in except for me, John, her brother Sebastian Moran, or her doctor so long as the doctor is accompanied by one of the aforementioned people. Do you understand?"

Lestrade gaped up at Sherlock, "Sherlock! I can't just let you-"

"Yes you can. And you will." Sherlock didn't bother beating around the bush; his sentences were curt at best as he loomed over Lestrade. "Now, Lestrade, if you'd be so kind to give John and me a ride home, we would appreciate that greatly."

"What, John's not going to stay?" Lestrade pointed at the closed door of the room where John's wife lay then upon looking up at the scowl on Sherlock's face realized his mistake, "All right, fine. Come on, I'll take you both home."

Sherlock smiled a sarcastic grin that made him look slightly like the Grinch, both John and Sherlock walked slightly behind Lestrade as they walked towards his car.

* * *

John and Sherlock had _just_ entered 221B and when the door closed John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him towards him so their chests touched. John looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes then buried his face in his chest. Sherlock held on tightly when John began, "I just want this to be over, all of it. I just want it all to be over so we can raise Isabella to be a happy, healthy young woman, just the three of us with your bees." John was mumbling into Sherlock's chest and despite the sound being muffled, Sherlock could understand each and every single word.

Sherlock nodded, "Don't worry John; we'll stop Moriarty before anything can happen to her."

Mrs. Hudson slowly descended the stairs from where Isabella was sleeping, "Oh, I'm sorry boys, I heard you two came in and I thought I'd see how Mary was doing." She turned to go upstairs, "I'll just leave you boys to calm down. I'll be in a jiffy."

John, still grasping Sherlock in his arms, called back to Mrs. Hudson, "How is she?"

Mrs. Hudson came down a few more steps so she could see John while she spoke to him, "A little angel." She beamed.

John nodded and allowed her to go back up the stairs to Isabella then looked back at Sherlock, "I think we shouldn't tell Mrs. Hudson quite yet, we can tell her in a bit. I don't want her to worry quite yet." Sherlock nodded and John continued, "Can Mycroft help out with security? Sherlock, what are we going to do?"

Sherlock thought for a moment, "Perhaps I should phone," a sigh, he hated asking his brother for help, "_Mycroft_, see if he can keep her safe until we catch Moriarty. She should be safe until then, as we will be '_playing the game.'_ But I feel we should err on the safe side of precaution."

John nodded; he liked the sound of that. He didn't want _anything_ to happen to his daughter.

Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Moran; Agatha was awake and wanted to talk. "I have to go, I just want to have a word with Mrs. Hudson first." Sherlock quickly made his way up the stairs where he found Mrs. Hudson smiling down on a sleeping Isabella. "Mrs. Hudson, John's had quite a shock today. I would appreciate it if you would stay with him until I return." Sherlock's voice was soft as he spoke to his land lady, a genuine request despite it being worded as an order. Mrs. Hudson nodded.

John began walking up the stairs to Isabella's room when he passed Sherlock on the staircase. "Everything okay?" John asked quietly, Sherlock nodded. "I think I'll sleep up here tonight, just so I can keep an eye on her." Sherlock nodded again.

Once John reached his old room where his daughter was still sleeping he spoke to Mrs. Hudson and said she could probably leave as he was going to bed. Mrs. Hudson nodded and went downstairs where she nodded to Sherlock, turned the kettle on to make a cuppa and sat in John's seat. She'd stay until Sherlock returned home.

* * *

The next day when John awoke to Isabella's soft whines he picked her up and took her downstairs to feed her. Sherlock was focused very intently on his computer but looked up when he heard John approaching. "Mycroft says he can keep Isabella safe until we are through with Moriarty, he has a small but extremely loyal team prepared for the task. They have no families, no friends, just the work. There are no pressure points for Moriarty to manipulate with them. She'll be completely safe with them."

John nodded, "I'd like to talk about it with Mycroft as well, if that'd be fine."

Sherlock nodded. After a long _and rather excruciating _conversation with Mycroft over the phone, John was satisfied with everything. Isabella was soon taken _personally_ by _Mycroft_ to a safe facility.

Sherlock got up quickly and made his way to the door, then turned to face John, "I'm going to speak with Agatha. Would… would you like to come with me? You may have some questions of your own for her?" Sherlock was unsure of himself but John nodded in response. "I'm sorry John; I know this is difficult for you."

John nodded and managed a smile, "right about now I think it's difficult for us both."

* * *

John entered the room to visit Agatha after Sherlock had concluded his interview, he wanted some alone time with her. He sat down in the seat not quite closest to her bed, but not quite the farthest one either. He sighed, "I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to you."

Aggy nodded minutely, "Don't say what you're supposed to; say what you need to." She noticed how he was hesitant to be too close to her, she understood.

John gave a curt nod then inhaled deeply, giving himself time to think before he began. "What do I call you?"

"What do you want to call me?"

John sighed, his heart broken just a little more, "I don't know anymore."

"You should probably call me Agatha." She grimaced slightly at the pain in her ribs. "Next question please."

"Did you ever care for me? Or was it all for Moriarty's plot?" John didn't mean to sound so callous, but he _had _to know.

Agatha slowly nodded, "I think I did, almost. If things had been different I probably would have loved you."

"But you didn't. You never loved me?"

"I couldn't. I had to constantly remind myself that you were just a target. Nothing more, that's all you could be to me. I'm sorry John; I know this isn't what you wanted to hear when you came in here. But I don't want to lie to you, you're a good man and I never enjoyed doing what I did to you. I honestly thought you would leave me back when Sherlock first returned and that I'd be tortured for failing Moriarty, but you never did; I almost wanted you to, things might have turned out better for you. But you surprised me." Agatha's speech sounded strained as she rushed through it, she just wanted to be done with talking for the day. But she didn't want to dismiss John that would only hurt him more.

John nodded; he didn't know what else to say.

* * *

A/N: All sorts of reunions in this chapter, thanks for the follows, favorites, and thanks for reading. Seriously though, no reviews for the last chapter? Please review! It really helps motivate me :P Constructive criticism is also welcome!


	18. Chapter 18: The Devil on My Shoulder

A/N: There's some references to drug use in this chapter, and one character cuts another (it's not really described). … I don't really know what to warn you guys for?

* * *

Chapter 18: The Devil on My Shoulder

John missed Isabella, it had only been a week but he missed having her around. Sherlock missed her too, all though Sherlock kept that to himself. He had a case to focus on and he wanted to get it done quickly. The past few days John and Sherlock had consistently been spending their time in Agatha's hospital room. Slowly trying to figure out their next course of action and feeding small amounts of information to the police to avoid angering Lestrade too much.

Combined Agatha and Moran had been able to draw up a fairly detailed map of several of Moriarty's safe houses. The only question was whether or not Moriarty would continue to use those after gaining the knowledge that Moran and Agatha were plotting against him. There were points against and in favor of him continuing their use; Moriarty was smart and would want to decrease his risk. On the other side, Moriarty likes to play games, likes the danger and generally considered himself above others.

John seemed to be the only one skeptical about Moriarty remaining in his current safe house; it just didn't make sense to him. However, Sherlock, Moran and Agatha all seemed to be convinced that he would continue to carry on as he always had. "I'm sorry, but that just seems stupid. Why would Moriarty stay when he knows that's how we could bring him down?" John still wasn't getting it.

"Remember our first night out? I told you about the frailty of genius. Moriarty is not immune to it." Sherlock had taken the seat directly next to John in Agatha's hospital room. He didn't like being too far from John, he couldn't help but feel a certain territorialism towards him.

John nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yea, I guess." John took a deep breath, he wondered if everyone else was getting as tired as him, "So what are we going to do? Are we still excluding the police?"

Moran nodded, "Yea, for obvious reasons." He tried for a smile to reassure John, but John still looked at Moran with skepticism in his eyes. Moran nodded so insignificantly that it hardly occurred at all; he understood John's perspective, but it didn't make him any less sad over their now strained friendship. Moran instead looked to his sister, "Are you _sure_ you don't remember where the torture room is?"

Agatha nodded, "I told you I was unconscious. Even I'm not _that_ good." She was still nursing her wounded ribs, all though they were slightly better than when she had first been brought in.

"What about when you were removed from the room?" Sherlock questioned.

Agatha scowled at herself, "I don't know. I was convinced I was going to die and I was in agony. I remember I was in a different building than when I was tranquilized. We had to travel north to get to Baker Street. I can't be sure how long we travelled though I think it was a fairly long trip but I can't be sure as my perspective may have been skewed slightly by the pain."

John nodded sympathetically and Sherlock leaned back in his chair to process the new information. Moran leaned forward, "Were you still in London?"

"I can't be sure."

Moran looked as though he were going to ask more questions when Agatha scowled angrily, fatigue starting to show on her face as she grimaced and shifted in her bed, "We've already been through all this. I would have thought you already knew where that room is, you and Moriarty were pretty much dating." There was a strong note of irritation in her voice as she glared at her brother sitting near her bedside.

Moran blushed slightly as he leaned back and shook his head, "I _knew_ where it _was_. But Moriarty changed the location about a month ago and wouldn't let me in on it." Moran pursed his lips and shook his head, "He had the old one completely disinfected and redone. There'll be no more evidence in there; and by the sounds of it it's in a completely different building than it was before." He didn't want to acknowledge the dating comment.

Sherlock refrained from scolding Moran for being so careless, if he had planned things out better it would have been much easier to bring down Moriarty; albeit, much more difficult to bring down Moran later. Somehow Sherlock wasn't so sure that Moriarty would be the lesser of the two evils. He didn't really care that John considered Moran a friend; and if the way John was looking at Moran now was an indication, Sherlock suspected that Moran wasn't really much of a friend after all.

John couldn't help it; his mind was still stuck on this one little point, "So, if we're not going to the police _**what**_ _exactly __**are**__ we doing?_"

Moran opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Sherlock, "I suggest we use some of _Mycroft's_ resources. I'm sure he would volunteer them to us if I let it 'slip' that it's relevant to Moriarty." Sherlock generally preferred to owe nothing to Mycroft. Any favors he needed he would try to twist in such a way that Mycroft hadn't any idea that it was in fact a favor. All though, more often than not Mycroft _would_ see through Sherlock and Sherlock would end up having to "assist" him in some foreign matters.

"I don't know, can we trust Mycroft or his men?" Moran seemed skeptical, and for good reason; he never trusted government officials.

Sherlock smirked slightly, "John and I can moderately trust him. I'm not so sure about _you_ though." John scowled slightly at Sherlock, giving him that 'if we're going to work together we have to get along' look that he had perfected over the past few days. Sherlock sighed and aborted an eye roll when he noticed John was still looking, then continued, "I'm not sure how much we can trust him. I generally don't. However, Mycroft has never let me down when I actually needed his assistance. Must I remind you of my 'fall'? We should be able to rely on him."

"I just need to know if he'll throw me and Aggy in prison alongside Moriarty."

Sherlock scowled, "I can't make guarantees."

The room fell into a thick, dense silence; Moran and Sherlock glaring across the room at one another. Agatha cleared her throat and grimaced as she shifted in her bed, "All right boys," she managed to smile, "calm down. Bastian would you go get me some more water?"

Moran gaped at her for a few moments but eventually nodded, stood and left the room to refill the water jug that had been emptied only a few minutes earlier. As the door closed Agatha looked towards John and Sherlock, "Sherlock." Sherlock looked up to signify she had his attention, "you're going to have to lie to my brother. Promise him that we won't go to jail and he'll co-operate."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows, what did she mean by this.

Before Sherlock could speak up John spoke, "But you might, you might go to jail, don't you care about that?"

Agatha shook her head, "I don't care about much anymore." She smiled, "Besides, do you _really_ think any jail could hold me?"

"You don't care about your brother?" John gaped.

Agatha scowled at John, "Of course I do. But I know just as well as he does that he could escape. In fact, it would be better for our plan. If we both end up in prison the rest of Moriarty's network wouldn't suspect anything was up."

"If you think it's so simple to break out of prison then why are we bothering to do this at all?" Sherlock scoffed.

Agatha rolled her eyes, "Because Moriarty's not going to _make it_ to prison. Do you really think you can simply lock a man like that away from the world and everything will be fine and dandy?" John and Sherlock both shook their heads and Agatha continued, "Exactly. I don't mind going to prison for a bit, and neither does Sebastian. He's always been worried about me; he's slightly overprotective, even now. So just **lie** to him. Okay?" She raised her eyebrows then nodded, she could see their agreement without them having to say it. "Now that'll be my brother coming around the corner now."

As the footsteps approached closer Sherlock began enumerating Mycroft's various resources and how they could be of possible use to them. Moran entered the room and scowled slightly, "I thought that we couldn't count on Mycroft, why are we still on this?"

"Because Sherlock knows how he can keep us out of the trap. Don't worry big brother, we'll be fine." Agatha lied for the group.

Moran took her for her word, nodding as he sat down. "So what's the plan?"

* * *

Moriarty was sitting in his favorite chair and smiled down as he played with his 'pet's' hair; it hadn't been the pet he wanted at the time, but in retrospect Moriarty was pleased with how things turned out. He got to play with Sherlock just as much anyway. Victor Trevor was kneeling at the side of Moriarty's chair with his face buried in Moriarty's trousers. "Please," Victor's voice was meek and pathetic, "please, just give me some. I need it." Moriarty grinned as his 'pet' began to rub his legs in need, "Please, I'll do anything. Just give me some."

Moriarty gripped Victor's hair and pulled his head back so he could get a better look at his face. Victor's face was much more sallow than it had been in his university days, Moriarty pursed his lips slightly at the shame of it. Victor had been so pretty then, he could see why Sherlock and he had been friends. Both intelligent, friendless and beautiful. At the time Moriarty had thought: get Victor addicted to cocaine, Sherlock would get addicted to cocaine; get Sherlock addicted to cocaine, Sherlock will become pet. It had seemed like such a simple process. Unfortunately he had underestimated _Mycroft_, so instead of a two for one deal he ended up just getting the one.

Victor had been easy to hook, easy to persuade. He had always been much more disturbed at his lack of friends than Sherlock ever had been. Moriarty had paid Victor a small amount of mind, he had been brilliant, he had been beautiful; but nowhere compared to Sherlock. It was only when Victor's dog bit Sherlock's legs and the two became friends that Moriarty decided he should probably pay Victor more attention.

Moriarty decided that he would steal a dog and make his introductions. Things had gone well, Victor's dog liked the one Moriarty had stolen and Victor invited him out to coffee. Moriarty noticed the way Victor smiled at him, things were almost too easy; silly Sherlock, should never leave his friends unattended, it just makes them so much more _vulnerable_. It only took him a few weeks to get Victor to try cocaine, he was almost immediately hooked. Moriarty had been disappointed, he had been hoping for more of a game, fortunately Sherlock didn't disappoint. He had managed to hold off for an entire school year despite obviously wanting to try it. Moriarty suspected that Sherlock wanted to keep up with his sense of superiority to others, the only way he could tolerate being so friendless.

Eventually Victor managed to persuade Sherlock to try it. Sherlock became a very high functioning regular user and Victor was rewarded with a week's worth of free cocaine. Moriarty enjoyed watching Sherlock slowly fall apart, and just when it was time to collect _Mycroft_ swooped in and took Sherlock away from him. Moriarty still had to figure out a way to punish Mycroft for that; perhaps making Sherlock into his favorite pet would be punishment enough. No, he though, no that wasn't enough.

"Please…" Victor's pathetic begging continued and grew more aggressive with each plea, he was getting impatient.

"Okay dear," Moriarty sung and Victor looked up with as much excitement as he could muster, which wasn't much. "I have a favor to ask of you first." Victor nodded, of course he'd do anything Moriarty asked right now, "Just hold still." Moriarty stood, removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and took out a knife.

* * *

John and Sherlock returned to their flat. They had just reached upstairs when they heard the doorbell; Sherlock didn't pay it much attention, just took out his computer and began typing. "Guess I'll get that then." John went down the stairs and opened the door to see a shirtless, pale, malnourished man with the words 'Moriarty sends his love' with a little heart at the end crudely carved into his skin kneeling on their doorsteps. "Sherlock!" John called to his flat mate, "**SHERLOCK!**"

John could hear Sherlock running down the stairs and turned to see the genius pale and stop in his tracks at the sight of the man on the door step. The man looked up, "Sherlock!" He fell forward so he was on his hands and knees, he could barely look up, "Sherlock, buddy! Jim said you'd have it, you'd have the stuff. Please, I need it!"

Sherlock shook his head and backed away. No, this wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. This had to be a nightmare. Sherlock had locked that away so he'd never have to look at it again; yet here it was, staring him in the face and asking him for cocaine. He never looked into what happened to Victor Trevor after he got clean, he told himself that it was because he didn't care, _sociopath_, caring's not an advantage. Under reconsideration he realized how stupid that really sounded, stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course it was because he cared, if John had taught him anything it was that Sherlock cared _too_ much. His brother's words rang in his ears _caring is not an advantage, caring is not an advantage_, Mycroft's voice continued to coo in his ears even as he spoke, "There's none of that here." Sherlock's tone surprised himself.

Sherlock looked to John; he didn't like the way John was looking at him, why was he looking at him like that? Victor collapsed in their doorway, "Please!" His voice was raspy, urgent, filled with so much need. Sherlock remembered the feeling; he didn't want to, he thought he had deleted that.

"You know him?" John pointed down at Victor who was now holding his legs.

Sherlock nodded, "Victor Trevor, my only friend from University. The man responsible for my cocaine addiction."

John gaped at Sherlock who gave him a look that pleaded, '_stop John, don't look at me like that, please stop.'_ John had known Sherlock had been a junky, but it was a whole other thing to _see_ remnants from that life rushing into their home. "Well, we should get him inside at least." John stooped down to carry some of the weight of Victor and help him up the stairs.

Victor pleaded with both John and Sherlock for cocaine the entire time he was awake, he eventually fell into a nightmare ridden slumber.

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for the follows, favorites, reading and reviewing :D thanks to booksaremylife for pointing out my mistake with Lestrade, I wasn't doing that intentionally despite doing it consistently (I'll fix my mistakes when I get some extra free time) and to Cartoon's Child for the compliments :P I was a little nervous that no one would review me ever again!


	19. Chapter 19: Out of Place

A/N: So for this chapter I'm going to slightly backtrack to when Mycroft first took Isabella to the safe house.

* * *

Chapter 19: Out of Place

Mycroft stood in the room that would have been empty had it not been for a crib containing Isabella, one of her caretakers, and himself. He looked down at Isabella; he had promised that he would _personally_ check up on her each day, to his inconvenience. He picked her up and held her at arm's length, when _would_ Sherlock and John finish with Moriarty? This was taking a considerable amount of time out of his very important schedule. This was only the first day, but he could tell how impeding it would be.

"Dull!" Isabella giggled as she wiggled in Mycroft's grasp who simply responded by sighing and rolling his eyes slightly.

"Yes, I _understand_. You think I'm dull." Mycroft replaced Isabella into her crib and the caretaker standing in the room smirked slightly. "Really, _you_ just sit there all day and you think _I'm_ dull?" Mycroft scoffed before he asked the caretaker if she was healthy and doing well. After he had gathered the necessary information he left the house and went along his business, sending a quick text to Sherlock while he was in the car.

* * *

The next day Mycroft swooped into the safe house again, checking on security to make sure everything was tight and functioning properly. He then, with some hesitation, made his way to where Isabella was. She stood up in her crib upon seeing him and started bouncing. Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked up to the crib. "You still look healthy." He said as he picked her up again, still holding her at arm's length. "Really though, are you _supposed_ to be this heavy?" He furrowed his brows and grimaced as he continued to examine her; he had to bend his elbows slightly, bringing her closer to him, to compensate for her weight. Mycroft wanted to rescind his comment about her weight; he knew she wouldn't understand and wouldn't remember, but he had had weight problems as a youngster and still felt resentful for all the taunting he had received. Such a superficial quality to mock; he was still sensitive about it. He, however, didn't say anything as the smirking caretaker was still watching.

Isabella simply continued to giggle and tried to slap Mycroft in her excitement. Mycroft moved her out to at arm's length again, "My, aren't we an aggressive one?" He couldn't keep the slight smile from his lips. "Aggression is not the answer, little Isabella, be assertive but never aggressive."

She laughed and smiled, "Dull!"

Mycroft put her down and rolled his eyes, "Yes, dull."

He turned his back to walk out of the room to go speak with some of her other caretakers to make sure she was still doing well (as he didn't want to speak with the caretaker currently in the room. The man was smirking too much and seemed too entertained by Mycroft's interactions with Isabella.) Then when he was nearly out of the room he heard Isabella call out "bu-bye" after him, her little voice stopping him in his tracks.

"Good bye." He seemed puzzled, he had to admit that he was impressed. She seemed to be using her words correctly, despite being slightly annoying. Mycroft smirked as he left the room. Her caretakers informed him that she was doing exceptionally well despite being away from her fathers and that she still seemed to be quite happy. Mycroft nodded, this was evident by the fact that she always seemed to be giggling. Again he sent off a quick text when he was in the car.

* * *

On the third day that Isabella was at the safe house, Mycroft found he didn't dread coming to visit her as much as he had thought he would. He saw it as a nice break from his work; he still managed to convince himself that he didn't actually care, that he was just doing a favor for his brother while he attempted to solve a much larger problem for them both. Truth was he did care, he cared for her because he cared for Sherlock. Sherlock deeply cared for her and Mycroft wanted her safe just as much as Sherlock did, not only for the sake of his brother's emotions, but Mycroft was also beginning to see what Sherlock saw in her.

Mycroft walked into the room where Isabella was kept and he greeted her this time, "Hello Isabella." His voice was much softer towards her than it had been the first day, all though he still ignored the smirking caretaker standing in the room.

Isabella turned to him and stood in her crib, bouncing up and down as she said "Hi!" Mycroft smiled as he picked her up from where she stood. He was much gentler with her now and sat her on the ground of the room and he sat down, legs awkwardly crossed in his suit.

"How are you?" Mycroft asked as he watched Isabella waddle around a few steps to only fall over and have to get up all over again, giggling the entire time. Mycroft nodded, "You certainly don't give up; do you?" Isabella didn't acknowledge Mycroft's words as she continued to move around the room. "Certainly an admirable trait." Mycroft lifted his chin slightly and nodded; John and Sherlock were doing an excellent job raising her. He glanced at his watch and sighed; he'd have to get moving, he still had much to do in his day. He stiffly got up from the floor; he regretted the decision to sit there, he'd have to get a chair put in here for tomorrow. He then picked Isabella up from the floor and put her back in her crib.

Security and the caretakers all said everything was doing well and he left, sending his report to Sherlock via text.

* * *

On the fourth day Mycroft entered to room and sat in the seat that was waiting for him. Isabella bounced up and down in her crib, she wanted out. Mycroft smiled and obliged, lifting her out of the crib and setting her down on the floor. She almost seemed to dance before she fell to a crawl again, then she got up again and ran a few steps. Mycroft watched her run around the room for a few minutes before he took the stuffed bee from his pocket that John had asked him to return to her the day before. Isabella immediately saw the stuffed bee and ran towards him and reached for it. Mycroft handed her the stuffed toy and she beamed with happiness; Mycroft could understand why John had informed him that it was her favorite toy, she truly seemed to enjoy it.

Mycroft watched her play for a bit before he lifted her and returned her to her crib. He went around to the various caretakers and security personnel to make sure everything was in top shape. As he was leaving the building he ended up walking by Isabella's room to hear her crying. He peaked into the room to see the caretaker cradling her, gently swaying her as he held her; she was red from crying and seemed very upset. Mycroft stepped into the room and asked what the matter was. The caretaker, who was no longer smirking, responded that she gave her head a nasty bump. Mycroft nodded and left the building. He would not inform Sherlock that Isabella had bumped her head and was now crying, he would tell him what he had intended to before the head bump.

* * *

The fifth day's visit was cut short as Isabella was crying, her caretakers told Mycroft that she was coming down with something and they weren't quite sure what it was yet. They told him that they were working on it and they were sure she would be fine soon. He nodded and sent a text telling Sherlock that Isabella was slightly under the weather but that it was nothing to worry about. Sherlock sent a few probing texts in return and Mycroft answered them all calmly.

Sherlock didn't tell John Isabella was sick, he didn't want John to worry.

* * *

On the sixth day Isabella had stopped crying and her caretakers informed Mycroft that she was doing much better. Mycroft entered the room where Isabella was kept and asked the smirking caretaker who stood there if she was doing okay. He nodded in response and Mycroft nodded as well as he stepped closer to the crib in which Isabella was still sitting. She was much quieter today, not only was she not crying, but she wasn't laughing either. No bouncing up and down, no greetings, not even a smile. She just sat in her crib quietly. Mycroft found this more worrisome than when she had been crying. Mycroft shook the feeling off and checked on security again before leaving and texting Sherlock that Isabella was doing better today than the previous day.

Mycroft felt out of place, he felt like Isabella was out of place. Everything felt wrong, but his analytical mind couldn't find the source of the problem aside from Isabella being away from her parents. Mycroft sat in his town car with furrowed brows, his hand in a fist against his chin as he thought about what could possibly be out of place while on his way back to work.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's a short chapter today but there's some fluff, so smile :) I felt like we needed a small break from all the intensity :P Thanks for the favourites, follows, reviewing and reading! :)


	20. Chapter 20: Insecurities

Chapter 20: Insecurities

John laid Victor down on the living room couch, "So we should probably call-" John turned towards where Sherlock had been just moments ago to find empty space, "Sherlock?!" Mrs. Hudson pointed in the direction Sherlock had disappeared in and John nodded, "Do you mind-" There was no need to finish the question, Mrs. Hudson didn't mind looking after the whimpering man sleeping on the couch for a few moments while John went after Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" John checked in their bedroom and found no one. He rolled his eyes and ascended towards where the bees were kept. "Sherlock?" He called one last time as the genius finally came into view.

"I have to tend to the bees, John."

"No you don't." Sherlock finally turned to look at John only to immediately turn his back again. John may not be a master of deduction, but he didn't miss Sherlock's red eyes that were ready to cry. "Who is that man?" John's voice was filled with concern, and maybe just a _little_ jealousy.

"I already told you, his name is Victor Trevor." Sherlock did his best to keep his voice devoid of emotion as he tried to look busy with the bees.

"No, Sherlock. Who is he to you?"

"He was my only-"

"I know what you already said!" John couldn't help but get a little impatient, raising his voice slightly before regaining control, "Sorry Sherlock, sorry." He ran his hands over his face, "I just… I want to know, _why_… or… I want to know what about him that has you so upset? The drugs? What?"

Sherlock frowned, still facing the bees, breathing in and out deeply through his nose. Eventually he found the courage to turn towards John and answer him, "I… He…" Sherlock took another deep breath and looked away from John, he hated having his former life bursting down their door; surely John would see Sherlock for the pathetic x-junky he really was and would leave, taking Isabella with him for bigger better things. Sherlock swallowed, if it's to happen he might as well get it out of the way. With a cold voice he cut through the air with his announcement, "Victor Trevor, my only friend at University; the man who got me started on drugs. I never found out what happened to him after I got sober." John already knew it, but perhaps it needed to be restated.

John nodded and thought for a moment, "Do you wish you had?"

The question cut through Sherlock sharp and quick, forcing him to physically take a step back to brace himself; _of course he did, of course he wished he had looked into Victor Trevor after he got sober. The only thing in his life he regretted more than this moment was the moment when he discovered __**just**__ how hurt John had been over his death upon their reunion. _Sherlock swallowed and nodded slightly, "I could have helped him." Sherlock's lips were white from rolling them in a thin line, his eyes were watery.

"So that's what's bothering you then? You didn't help him when you could have?" Sherlock nodded and John continued, "Sherlock, it's not your fault. You have _**no**_ responsibility for his actions. You don't even know _if_ you could have actually helped him." Sherlock wouldn't look at John, he couldn't. John's posture stiffened slightly, "That's not all, is it?"

Finally Sherlock looked back to John, "What?"

"There's obviously more, what is it?" John's hands were flexing at his sides, ready to find out that Sherlock and Victor had had a fantastic love affair, or that they had gone on a murder spree together, some horrible news was surely coming.

Sherlock's posture was insecure, he looked like he didn't quite know what to do with his arms and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I don't want you to leave."

John's posture eased slightly, he cocked his head slightly to the side, "I… what? Sherlock, I don't understand?"

"Please don't leave."

John was really confused now, what did this have to do with anything? "I'm not… Sherlock, I'm not going to leave. What's going on?"

Sherlock took in a deep breath to steady himself, "John, I'm a former junky…" John went to interject but Sherlock cut him off with a gesture of his hand, "I know you already know that. But now a _current_ junky from _**my**__ former_ junky life is in our living room. You have a young daughter, and as much as you love the dangerous lifestyle you can't really be willing to accept this. Can you?" The last question was almost pleaded; _please let me be wrong._

John closed the distance between them and pulled Sherlock down into a hard, slow kiss. John could hear Sherlock's breath hitch as he slowly relaxed into the kiss. When John broke the kiss their faces remained close, John brought his hand up to touch Sherlock's face and whispered as he looked into the eyes that were filled with infinite possibilities, hopes and fears, "I'm not going to leave you. I _love_ _**you**_ for **you**. Not for the lifestyle, not for anything other than you are _**you**_." John could still taste Sherlock on his lips, honey and tea. John licked his lips to be sure he was tasting that right.

Sherlock licked his lips more subtly than John did, _chocolate and mint?_ Sherlock's mask of indifference was up again; only marred slightly by the slight remnants of red, tear ready eyes. "I'll call Lestrade to have Victor taken to the hospital."

"We could just call an ambulance?"

"No. Moriarty could too easily intercept him that way, I'll call Lestrade that way we know he makes it there safely." Sherlock swooped past John and returned to the living room where Victor was just starting to wake. John followed, shaking his head slightly with a smile on his face. One thought echoing through his mind, _of course._

"I would suggest you go back downstairs Mrs. Hudson, if I remember correctly Victor can get rather irritable when he hasn't had his _fix_." Mrs. Hudson nodded and left the flat. Sherlock sent a quick text to Lestrade: _important witness at 221B, please come._

Lestrade showed up without much delay and quickly ran up the stairs to 221B. He was greeted by a sight that truly surprised him; his face slackened in shock and he looked to Sherlock, "Is that?" Sherlock nodded, "Damn. I haven't seen him in…"

"It would be nearly a decade now."

Lestrade nodded then saw the confused look on John's face, "I used to have to pick this bastard up once a week for disturbing the peace." He pointed in the direction of a very angry Victor, "I stopped seeing him and just figured he must have gone into rehab."

Victor laughed maliciously, his mood had taken a very dark turn about five minutes ago when he discovered that Sherlock _wouldn't_ give him cocaine. "You probably missed me." Victor looked to John, "Used to suck his dick for the good stuff." John simply stared, posture military straight with his arms folded across his chest. He wasn't buying any of it.

"No, no, no. You tried, but I always told you **NO**." Lestrade began to argue but John waved him off.

"Don't worry Greg, I know you wouldn't do that."

Lestrade breathed a little easier, "What happened to him?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock answered.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, "So you weren't kidding when you said 'important witness.'"

Sherlock nodded and returned his attention to Victor, "Where is Jim?"

"Fuck you Sherlock. Won't even help an old buddy out. Maybe I know, maybe I don't; either way I'm not telling you anything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "That's a shame because Lestrade here has access to some high quality stuff." Lestrade shot Sherlock a scolding expression which Sherlock ignored, "things go missing from evidence all the time, I'm sure we could have helped you if only you would have helped us."

Victor smiled, his mood improving dramatically very suddenly, "Sherlock, Lestrade!" He hesitated, not remembering John's name, "other friend!" He was beaming, "You guys. You're really great guys! I knew you'd help me out! I just knew it!"

"Yes, but first you need to tell us where Jim is." Sherlock was growing impatient.

"Of course, of course! He said you guys would help me out! He gave me a message to give to you guys, he said that he and his Bella were going to be playing on the roof."

Sherlock and John were scowling now, Lestrade looked frightened. "What roof?" Sherlock all but growled out.

Victor shrugged, "Don't know, he didn't say. But I told you where he'd be! So go get me my stuff!" he made a shooing gesture at Lestrade as he began to grow more irritated.

Sherlock took Lestrade to the side, "would you please take him to this rehabilitation facility? It has excellent doctors on staff that are more than capable to deal with not only his chest but him as well." Sherlock handed Lestrade a slightly old looking card with the name and address of a rehab facility on it.

"What about where Moriarty is?"

"Don't worry, I'll find out and fill you in as we go."

"Don't leave me in the dark, Sherlock!"

Sherlock nodded, "Don't worry. I'll let you know as soon as I do." Lestrade was skeptical to say the least, but he didn't have much else he could do.

He took Victor by the arm and told him that they were going to go pick up his reward. He took him to the public rehabilitation center Sherlock had recommended and attempted to escort him into the building when Victor grew paranoid and began running down the street. Victor screamed at the top of his lungs that Lestrade was trying to kill him causing a scene. Lestrade managed to tackle Victor to the ground and when the spectators began to approach he pulled his badge out and diffused the situation the best he could. He managed to get Victor into the rehabilitation center without further incident.

Meanwhile, Sherlock texted his brother to check up on Isabella. He received no answer.

* * *

On the seventh day that Isabella was at the safe house Mycroft entered the building and felt something was off. One of the front guards was not at his post. He entered the building and was about to complain when he was thumped over the head and knocked out. When he awoke he saw the smirking caretaker doing as he always did in front of him, smirking. Mycroft scoffed, "You have excellent timing," he grimaced, "I was going to have you fired tomorrow."

Still smirking the caretaker spoke up for the first time in six days, "Whatever for? Did you feel you couldn't trust me?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and did one of his patented disgusted smiles, "I wonder why."

The smirking caretaker shrugged as he walked around to Isabella's crib and pulled her out, holding her close to his chest. "In about two hours Sherlock will receive a text where to find you." He walked closer to Mycroft, "We have cameras just _there_ and _there." _He gestured with his head, "we look forward to you explaining what happened to John and Sherlock. They _trusted_ you with their precious Isabella." He looked down at Isabella who looked slightly scared, "Ah, but she is a sweet heart isn't she?" He began walking out the door, "but I don't have to tell_ you_ that, now do I?" He laughed and was gone.

Mycroft knew he wouldn't be able to get out of his restraints without assistance, but he attempted anyway. He sighed, he didn't know if he could ever make up for this. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he was unable to reach it. He wondered to himself, _why __**two**__ hours?_

A few minutes later Moriarty walked into the room. Mycroft rolled his eyes, _**that's**__ why the two hours_. Moriarty was grinning like a maniac as he dragged a simple chair behind him into the room. He slowly sat down as to make himself comfortable, their knees touched making Mycroft even _more_ irritated.

"I wanted to spend a little time with you, hope you don't mind." Moriarty nearly sang as he did his best to pull a solemn facial expression. "Thought you might wanna talk." He pursed his lips slightly and grinned, "And don't worry, I've arranged it so we won't be disturbed."

* * *

Sherlock and John paced in the living room, Sherlock phoning and texting Mycroft over and over again. John's irritation grew and grew as he asked over and over if Sherlock really thought Moriarty might have Isabella. Eventually Sherlock screamed out that he didn't know and both men stopped pacing and stared at each other. A silent apology spoken only through eye contact.

Sherlock's phone buzzed in his hand, it was a text message containing an address from an unknown number. Sherlock texted Lestrade to come pick them up.

Upon Lestrade's arrival he looked at John and Sherlock who were obviously stressed. Sherlock spoke first, "I have a text with an address. I need you to take us there."

"I'm starting to think you're only keeping me in the loop to run errands and be your personal chauffeur." Sherlock simply exaggeration a smile at this, Lestrade's mouth hung agape for a moment, "Sherlock! I'm not your personal chauffeur!"

John intervened before any more feelings could be hurt, "No, Lestrade, we know that. We're not keeping you in the loop because of that. We really do need you. Please, we need to check out this address."

Lestrade calmed slightly and agreed to take them to the address.

* * *

Mycroft heard the door opening, he closed his eyes and sighed; he really didn't want to be found yet. At least not by his brother, not now. Lestrade was the first to round the corner to the room where Mycroft was bound to a chair, for a moment he was relieved; the possibility that they had only sent Lestrade flowed easily through his mind. His relief was short lived, it wasn't long before he could hear his little brother's footsteps approaching, followed quickly by John's.

Lestrade lowered his gun and called out to Sherlock and John. Mycroft closed his eyes again and scowled. This was going to get very, _very_ humiliating _very_ quickly.

Sherlock and John appeared in the doorway. An awkward moment of silence filled the room, thick and heavy. If Mycroft were more sentimental, he suspected he would have choked on it. He decided to break the silence first, "Hello, dear brother." He grimaced and scowled slightly.

"What happened?" Sherlock's voice was cold and to the point.

Mycroft inhaled deeply, "Moriarty penetrated the team of assembled caretakers I set up for Isabella. I'm so sorry Sherlock, he has her."

Sherlock's mask of indifference was broken momentarily, but only for a moment. John however, was fuming with rage, posture military straight, fists at his side, brows furrowed and a frown creased his face. Mycroft found himself almost afraid, tied to a chair with an angry father in the room.

"We're also being watched by him _and_ his men. So I would prefer if any further discussion was done elsewhere." Mycroft glanced down at his restraints and Lestrade stepped forward to remove them for him.

Sherlock thought to himself that if they were being watched right now that was a good thing, they could possibly use it to trace Moriarty and his men.

* * *

A/N: Yea, last chapter wasn't just for the sake of fluff or anything… foreshadowing. :P Thanks for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites. :D


	21. Chapter 21: Conversations

A/N: The beginning of this chapter backtracks a little bit to Moriarty and Mycroft's conversation. Also a bit of a **warning** here: **Mentions of rape**, and still more drug use references… nothing descript.

* * *

Chapter 21: Conversations

Moriarty smiled and allowed the silence to fill the air for a few moments, "Do you remember me when _I_ was the one tied to a chair?"

Mycroft did not respond. He simply rolled his eyes and looked away from Moriarty who was invading his personal space.

Moriarty didn't seem to appreciate Mycroft's attempts at ignoring him, he reached out and grabbed Mycroft's face, turning it so they faced each other so close they could feel each other's breath. "Things were quite different then." Moriarty's voice was dark and dangerous- ominous, "Big bad Mycroft with all those horses and men, an entire government at his disposal thought he could take on the spider." Moriarty allowed himself to smirk at Mycroft's scowl. "I love your brother's nickname for me. He does have quite the flair for dramatics. So do I though." Moriarty smiled, "Now you know better than thinking you can take me on though, don't you?"

Moriarty's hand was still holding Mycroft's face, directing his attention to himself. Mycroft scowled and spoke in a voice far too calm for the situation, "What do you want?" he tried to shift his head out of Moriarty's grasp, to no avail.

Moriarty smiled, "Remember when you had _me_ tied to a chair?"

"Yes." Mycroft's voice was full of skepticism, unsure of where Moriarty was going with this train of thought.

"You had me beaten." Moriarty allowed the sentence to linger in the air a few moments, Mycroft's face showed no emotion. "And you also told me about Sherlock." Moriarty's smile reappeared on his face and he seemed to have a new burst of energy, "Now I want to tell _you_ about Sherlock."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, "What do _you_ have to tell me about my brother?"

"I can tell you _all_ about his cocaine addiction."

"Oh?" Mycroft's face was still devoid of emotion, he didn't want to give Moriarty anything to feed off of.

"Yep, I can tell you _all _about him and Victor Trevor." Moriarty noticed the slightest bit of a scowl edge its way onto Mycroft's features at the mention of Victor and he smiled smug and self-satisfied, "I knew Victor back in the day." Moriarty was leaning back in his chair now after having removed his hand from Mycroft's face, "He and I were buddies. One day I suggested that he should try some cocaine because it's _really, really good._ Poor lad, so ordinary, so lonely. It didn't take much influence to get him going on it. Sherlock was more resolute against it, worried it would hinder his cognitive functions. But boredom has its way of changing good ol' Sherly's mind."

"I already know that you were the one indirectly behind his addiction." Mycroft raised his chin slightly, "Do you really think I don't know?" Mycroft smirked slightly.

"Oh, I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Moriarty assured him, "That's not the point of the story though. No," he paused for dramatic effect, mocking a thinking pout, "no, that's not the end _at all._" His smile looked almost like it could split his face in two. "See, one day," another dramatic pause, "when he was out cold…" Moriarty had to stifle a bit of laughter and Mycroft felt like a stone was slowly slinking down his throat and sinking to the bottom of his stomach, leaving an unpleasant weight there, "… I found him. Your brother is just _so_ gorgeous. I couldn't resist."

Mycroft didn't want to listen to this, he decided to speak up, "I'm sure you had a jolly time."

Moriarty smiled, "I did. I was almost surprised when you didn't figure it out. His walking gait was slightly different for the next few days, did you not pick up on it?" Mycroft blankly stared at him, "No? Oh, tisk, tisk, tisk, Mr. Holmes, I expected better from you."

Mycroft grimaced a smile, "I _really_ don't care. Just tell me what you _**want**_?"

Moriarty scowled as he leaned forward slightly, "You care. Don't tell me you don't." Moriarty was very close to Mycroft now, faces just breaths apart, "You may be the _iceman_, but you do have a heart somewhere in that ice." Moriarty leaned back again, "You took Sherly away from me, after all that work I put in. You took him away and got him all nice and _rehabilitated_; how proper of you." Moriarty continued to scowl, "That was unkind, _Mycroft_, very unkind indeed. Now I want you to _listen_ and _**know**_ **exactly** what I did to Sherlock, and I want you to _**know**_ what I'm _**going to do**_." Moriarty allowed for another dramatic pause as he and Mycroft maintained furious eye contact, "And I want you to know that there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop me." His voice and face softened and he allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

Mycroft sighed, "I suppose there's not much I can do to stop you from telling me."

Moriarty shook his head and smiled, "Sherly's _my_ virgin, _mine._ It really _shouldn't_ count if he can't remember it." Moriarty then attempted to regale more himself than Mycroft with a very descriptive narrative of the rape of an unconscious Sherlock. Mycroft did his best to keep his face impassive, but Moriarty could see each and every small emotion that flit across his features, speaking loud volumes which he fed from. Moriarty found himself quite satisfied with his choice of vengeance against Mycroft for his _incessant_ interfering.

Once finished telling his story Moriarty put his hands on Mycroft's knees and rubbed up towards his thighs; Mycroft couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder that ran through his body at the touch, he felt like he was about to vomit; aside from the slight shudder his posture and expression were completely impassive. It was enough for Moriarty, his smile was wide and unnatural looking; Mycroft found himself wishing he could tie him up, put a nice bow on him, and let John do as he pleased with him. John had been in the military, had innate medical and anatomical knowledge. Mycroft was sure that John would be able to come up with an imaginative fate for the devil on Sherlock's shoulder, especially if Mycroft let just a _few_ tid-bits of information slip in front of him.

"And when everything is done, I promise you that I'll have Sherlock on a leash."

Mycroft managed a scoff that lacked its usual edge of superiority.

* * *

Mycroft stood up from the seat he had been bound to, thanks to Lestrade releasing him, and looked thoughtfully at his younger brother. He couldn't tell him, even Mycroft had no clue what kind of reaction Sherlock would have to such information. He wouldn't tell him, it was for the best that he never learn what Moriarty had done. Sherlock searched the room for the cameras and quickly found them.

Sherlock quickly strode across the room without looking at his older brother, "Meet us at 221B, we'll have our discussion there, _Mycroft." _Sherlock sneered, John silently followed close behind.

"Is he not coming with us? There's room in the c-" Lestrade began but was cut of short when Sherlock yelled at him to hurry, Mycroft would be able to find his own way. Lestrade rushed along and drove Sherlock and John back to 221B. Mycroft sighed and sent a text with directions of where to pick him up and where to take him, who to bring and what to do once they arrived at the location.

* * *

Mycroft showed up to the flat fifteen minutes after John and Sherlock had returned. Lestrade had left upon their request without any attempt of an argument. He understood this was a more personal matter for them and he just hoped that they would fill him in on the need to know later. Mycroft slowly took each step leading up to 221B one at a time, he was embarrassed, he was concerned, and while he was sure he could hide the full truth from Sherlock there was always the faint possibility that he couldn't.

Mycroft entered the flat and was greeted by the sight of John and Sherlock sitting in their usual seats, waiting for Mycroft to sit on the uncomfortable wooden client's chair; both men looked livid in their own way. Mycroft took his uncomfortable seat and didn't wait for them to prompt him, "I personally oversaw the selection of Isabella's safe house location, her caretakers, and the security personnel that were to look after her. Everyone had been working for me personally for years. Their records had no marks on them whatsoever.

"This time, however, I noticed one of the caretakers behaving in an odd way. Where normally I receive the utmost respect this caretaker was now smirking. I checked his credentials again, they passed. I was going to fire him today and have Isabella moved to a different, secure location as I didn't want to risk anything. Upon arriving at the house I noticed that one of the security guards was absent from his post. I went inside in search of others to see what the problem was when I was hit over my head. When I awoke I was bound to the chair and the caretaker took Isabella. He was soon replaced in the room by Moriarty. He is convinced that by the end of your little _game_ that he will have you wearing a leash, Sherlock. So please, be careful." Mycroft left out the topic of discussion and that the rest of the men and women under his employment for the care of Isabella had all been assassinated.

Sherlock scoffed, he didn't need to hear from Mycroft to be careful, not when it was _Mycroft_ who had allowed Isabella to be taken. No, he didn't need to hear that from him. "What was the caretaker's name?" Sherlock's voice was deep and disturbingly indifferent.

"Michael Prowell."

Sherlock looked to John, "text Moran and see if the name is familiar to him." John nodded, a scowl still on his face as he turned his attention to his phone, texting Moran the name. Within a minute John received a return text: _Pseudonym for Lester, one of Moriarty's loyalists. Not sure of surname. _

John handed Sherlock his phone with the response open on the screen. Sherlock looked down at it and muttered, "Perhaps we should have asked Moran about all your employees before we entrusted Isabella to you."

Another text came in:_ What's happened?_

Sherlock responded on John's phone: _Nothing, you needn't be concerned. _

Sherlock held the phone in his hand; knowing that his response would not have satisfied Moran, he awaited the next text: _Bull shit, this is Sherlock isn't it? I can tell the difference. What's going on?_

Sherlock smirked at the phone, Moran was cleverer than he looks. John arched a curious eyebrow at Sherlock and asked what was going on. Sherlock composed his response:_ Moriarty has Isabella. Message from an old friend says he and Isabella will be 'playing on the roof' Do you know of any roof aside from Bart's that would have significance to him?_

The response read:_ I'll be at your flat in 5. Wait for me._

Sherlock physically shook his head: _no, you have to stay with Agatha. You can't abandon her._

The response:_ Aggy can look after herself- trained assassin- I'm on my way._

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Mycroft, you can leave now. Moran's on his way." He spoke more to John than to Mycroft.

Mycroft grimaced a smile, "Oh! You're working with Moran, Sebastian Moran? And you give _me_ a hard time about working with Moriarty's operatives." He scoffed, "Good luck, you know you can't trust him."

John looked up from Sherlock to Mycroft, "Yea. Actually, we're already _well_ aware of that. Thanks." He laughed slightly as he turned back to Sherlock.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and left the flat where he entered one of his town cars and quickly disappeared into traffic.

* * *

Moran showed up in five minutes, both John and Sherlock looked at him curiously. _How did he manage __**that?**_ He should have taken at least an extra five minutes longer than he did. Even more surprising to them was that behind him Aggy walked into the room nursing her ribs as she moved across the floor to gingerly lay on the couch. Moran stood next to the couch with his arms folded over his chest.

John furrowed his brows and cocked his head slightly to the side as he pointed at the injured woman lying on the couch, "What's she doing here?"

"Bastian may be a good liar, but he's not _that_ good. When I found out I insisted that I come with him or he wasn't allowed to go."

"Your ribs still require at least two more weeks of healing before you should be moving around." Sherlock spoke up, voicing just one of John's thoughts.

Agatha nodded, "Yes. I should be resting. But I've worked in worse condition." She managed to suppress a laugh, "not much worse, mind you." A grin spread across her face then she grew serious again, "Moriarty has your little girl, John. And While I might not have been there for her so far I won't allow that. I am her mother after all." Agatha smiled as she pondered over the notion. She had no intentions of being around for Isabella's day to day life; however, when it really counted, when it really mattered, she would always be there to protect her daughter.

John nodded; she was right, it was possible that she would be able to help them.

* * *

A/N: So that's the chapter for the day, I probably _could_ make this chapter longer, but that's all I feel like putting in right now. Sorry about what Moriarty did to Sherlock back in the day, I didn't initially plan on that but then it popped into my head and since I'm cruel I decided to put it in. Hope you're all still enjoying! Thanks for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites :D


	22. Chapter 22: Waiting and Planning

Chapter 22: Waiting and Planning and Waiting

Moriarty raised his eyebrows and smiled wide as he looked down at little Isabella who he held in his arms. He had wrapped her in a blanket to 1) keep her warm, and 2) prevent her from escaping his grasp. "We're just waiting for your precious fathers to get here." Isabella just looked up at him, slightly sleepy and irritated from being awake for so long. Moriarty began ignoring her again; she was boring, so ordinary. Being the child of dull, boring little John Hamish Watson and his ordinary and average assassin Agatha Grace Rachelle Addams, there really wasn't much hope for her to be interesting. Moriarty sighed; everyone's so ordinary, so dull.

The only person he really had worthwhile was Sherlock, and even he would disappoint in the final act. He always would, on the side of the angels and always wanting _everything_ to be _so _clever. Sometimes simple things worked better than clever things; a sad fact of life, but Moriarty accepted it. He considered things for a moment; perhaps Moran would have a decent influence on Sherlock; that would be a pleasant surprise. He knew he wouldn't have to worry about Mycroft, his men, or the police interfering with things this time. Mycroft had disappointed Sherlock by letting Isabella be taken. Sherlock would never forgive him for that, Moriarty could consider Mycroft out of the way. The police wouldn't be involved because it's _Sherlock_, why would _he_ involve the police? Especially with so much at stake; no, Moriarty wouldn't have to worry about them either.

Moriarty laughed at the thought of Mycroft, startling Isabella who threatened to cry. Moriarty regained his composure and simply smirked. Mycroft was _such_ a fool to believe that story he had told him. Moriarty made a mental note to be offended by the fact that Mycroft would believe that _he_ would _rape_ anyone. Moriarty scowled, he didn't need to rape. Sherlock would have to want it; it wouldn't be long before Sherlock would be begging to be Moriarty's baby. The smile resurfaced on Moriarty's face; he had to give himself credit, it was a good story. He recounted it in his head, so many excellent ideas that could easily be carried over to consensual sex. They were going to have so much fun, Sherlock and Moriarty; Moran too, if everything went according to plan.

* * *

Sherlock paced the room, Agatha remained stretched out on the couch, Moran had moved and was sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair next to the couch, and John sat in his usual chair as they all discussed what course of action to take. "I think our best shot is just to take him out, don't bother with the meet; just take him out." Moran voiced his opinion again, despite it having had already been rejected.

"Don't be st-" Sherlock began, but Agatha finished the sentiment for him.

"We can't _just_ take him out; he'll be holding Isabella just for that reason. She could fall, she could get hurt, he could land on her, or she could get cold waiting for us to fetch her. There are too many variables that could go wrong." Agatha said. John sat in silence as he listened to the opinions being offered, his brow furrowed and his fist pressed firmly against his mouth as he considered the suggestions. Agatha continued, "Not to mention that Moriarty will undoubtedly have a large and spectacular arrangement of assassins ready for us." She paused to think a moment and to rest her ribs from speaking, "Lester will be there. He won't be impressed that I tried to serve him up as a part of the mutiny squad." She almost laughed, she really wished that Moriarty had bought her 'confession' and had Lester killed. Damn Lester, he was a tough one to best even without broken ribs.

"Let's review the layout of the rooftop, the surrounding buildings and possible vantage points." Sherlock said as he finally retook his seat, flattened and rearranged the various maps that were on the table sitting in front of him.

John glanced at Sherlock who was reviewing the map of Bart's rooftop; John knew that Sherlock already knew every detail of the rooftop and the surrounding buildings; he would have had to for the fall. John wasn't sure if he was doing this for his own benefit, or for everyone else's; was it possible that Sherlock had hit a wall and was stumped? John tried to shove the thought out of his mind; he had to have faith in Sherlock;now more than ever.

Moran rose from his seat and stepped forward to study the maps in front of Sherlock. He then proceeded to point out some of the best vantage points, Sherlock and Agatha offering a few here and there as well. Every once in a while everyone would turn and look at John almost as if they were checking with their superior to make sure they were doing an adequate job of things. John would nod and the conversation would continue to progress. Eventually they decided on where the assassins would likely be, deciding that they would account for _every_ possible vantage point, even the ones that weren't ideal as Moriarty has many men and they wanted to progress on the safe side for this mission.

They then began narrowing down vantage points which they could eliminate the assassins with maximum efficiency.

"Just to be sure, we only have two snipers? Just the two of you, you don't have anyone else available to you?" Sherlock was sounding frustrated.

Moran shook his head, "just the two of us." He smiled to himself, the line made him almost want to break into song; he decided against it being inappropriate timing for such things.

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, "How exactly did you _intend_ on taking over _Moriarty's_ operation with _just the __**two**_of you?"

"I _had_ a solid portion of Moriarty's men buttered up and ready to go. That didn't work out so well when everything was exposed before I expected. They'll side with the winner once all the dust settles, so I just have to make sure that _**I**_ come out on top." Moran's impatience was growing by the minute as well.

Sherlock and Moran in the same room wasn't an ideal combination under normal circumstances, add stress into the mix and it was borderline scary. Sherlock annoyed at Moran's 'incompetent strategizing skills' and Moran growing more and more short tempered by Sherlock's snide remarks. "Hmmm, well perhaps you should have planned things out a little better. Then we mightn't have ended up in this situation in the first place." Sherlock stood- to do what, John didn't know; perhaps simply for the sake of being confrontational.

Sherlock and Moran stood inches apart; Moran taller and more muscular leered down at Sherlock. "Well who was the one who left Isabella with _Mycroft_?" Moran insisted and Sherlock sneered; both men's postures remained dominant as they stood their ground. A fight was just seconds from starting; whether it was physical or verbal, John couldn't tell.

John was about to speak up when Agatha's voice rang clear and assertive through the room, "All right boys, let's take our seats and calm down."

Moran and Sherlock continued their stare down for a few more moments before Moran finally turned and retook his uncomfortable seat next to the couch. Sherlock smirked as though he had just had some great victory as he retook his own seat, Moran scowled across the room at him. Agatha took control of the discussion; she listed the options of where she and Moran could set up and what the advantages and disadvantages of each location would be summing it all up with the location she thought would be best for her and the location that would be best for Moran.

Her assessment was met with no disagreement, she had thought it through well and presented her thought process succinctly. The group nodded and Agatha continued, "I would recommend we go for kill shots for everyone. These snipers may be sitting on the fence, but that doesn't mean that they won't side with Moriarty while he's still alive. We need to take them all out, quickly and quietly."

John narrowed his eyes under his furrowed brow and shook his head slightly, having an internal debate with himself whether he was willing to have all these men murdered for his daughter. Sherlock shook his head very visibly and disagreed without hesitation, "No, we can use rubber bullets; there's no need to kill."

"That decreases the accuracy, the range and isn't guaranteed to put them down." Moran smirked at the opportunity to correct Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, I know. But if you want to have a team of criminals afterwards then I would advise you don't _murder_ all of them before you gain access to them." In reality Sherlock was uncomfortable with ending that many lives, and he knew John would be to; all though, Sherlock wasn't sure if he or John would be the one to care more or less than the other.

Agatha rolled her eyes, "Let's have a vote on it then." She raised her arm and grimaced slightly at the pain in her ribs, "all in favor of murder." Moran raised his hand, and to Sherlock's surprise he was the only one with his hand not in the air, he turned to John and tried to read what was there.

"Sorry Sherlock, I don't like it any more than you, but it _is_ the best way to go." John lowered his hand from the air and allowed it to rest awkwardly in his lap. He had to look away from Sherlock who looked so… betrayed? John didn't want to face it.

"That settles it then, we'll go for kill shots." Agatha concluded. Sherlock frowned as he nodded, accepting the truth of what was to happen. He didn't like it, but upon further consideration Sherlock realized that the fact that John had been in the military and was a doctor would therefore cause him to be more accustomed to power over life than Sherlock was.

After they finished hammering out the final details of the plan John grabbed Sherlock gently by the arm and pulled him closer to him, "Look, Sherlock, I know you're not comfortable with the idea of killing- I'm not either- but I don't want to risk anything right now. I'm really scared." John didn't like that Sherlock was upset, it wasn't hard to tell; Sherlock had been blatantly sulking after the vote and John was concerned. "Are you going to be okay with this? We can change the plan if-"

"No, it'll be fine. You're right, it is the best option." Sherlock's voice was calm and managed to sooth John's nerves.

John nodded, things would be okay, and then he smiled up at Sherlock and gave him a reassuring hug, "I love you." John mumbled under his breath as he buried his face in Sherlock's chest.

* * *

Moriarty smiled and laughed as he listened to his conspiring enemies. They really should learn to do regular sweeps for bugs. He could understand Sherlock and John's lapse, they weren't employed criminals; Agatha had her injured ribs that could _almost_ excuse her mistake; Moran however, had no excuse whatsoever. Moriarty rolled his eyes with a wide smile on his face; Moran always _did _forget that part of the job. He would only remember when Moriarty flaunted the fact that he was watching him. Moriarty sent texts to his men telling them where to go and what to do. All that planning would be of no use to them now.

It was entertaining for Moriarty to hear them make useless plans, thinking they could best him; it would all come crumbling down on them. He looked down to Isabella who had fallen asleep, "Your family is coming to rescue you." He hummed as he gently swayed her in his arms. "Not long to wait now, soon I'll have my play things." All he had to do now was to wait. Moriarty _hated_ waiting. He debated on what to do to entertain himself; he looked down at the sleeping baby, "Maybe I'll keep you too, in the end, not yet. I don't think so though, maybe I'll just keep you as a favor to Sherlock. He'd like that, he seems fond of you. I suppose my play thing can have _one_ personal possession." Moriarty began to make his way to the rooftop.

* * *

A/N: See, I feel like Moriarty's ego is too big to rape people; he didn't actually rape Sherlock, he just said that to piss off Mycroft (which is still a horrible thing to do, but still better than actual rape). Thanks for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites :D hope you're all enjoying, there's only going to be a few more chapters so get ready for the end!


	23. Chapter 23: Prepare to Break

Warning: character death

Chapter 23: Prepare to Break

Sherlock stepped out onto the roof to find Moriarty sitting in the same spot as the day of the fall; this time he held Isabella close to his chest instead of his mobile, there was no music playing just the silence of the roof. John was waiting inside, halfway up the stairs and ready to intervene upon the signal. Moriarty smiled as Sherlock approached, Sherlock's face remained impassive as Moriarty began speaking, "I do love all your little plans." Sherlock arched an eyebrow and Moriarty continued while nodding, "They're so cute. You think you can win, but you can't win."

* * *

Agatha was straining with the weight of her weapon as she carried it in its case with both arms. Normally it would be nothing to carry, she'd take it under one arm and still be able to move swiftly without any noise; however, with her ribs in the state they were it was a much more cumbersome burden. She heard a noise just behind her, before she had a chance to turn, grab her gun from her hip and fire there was a fist being thrust into her already wounded ribs. She had no chance to regain control over her reactions before she dropped her weapon and brought her arms up in an instinctual attempt to protect her ribs. Her gun was taken from her holster and she was hit over the head with the handle of it. She fell the rest of the distance to the floor where she managed to land on her hands and knees despite being disoriented. A foot came in quick, hitting her in the chest and lifting her off the ground. Agatha closed her eyes and her face contorted in pain as she began coughing and gasping for air.

Lester looked down at her in anger, "Fuck you, almost had my entire family killed over your little stunt." He kicked her in the ribs again before he grabbed a fist full of her hair, bound her arms behind her back and started dragging her towards where Moriarty waited for them. The two other men he had brought for back up walked slightly behind them with guns trained on Agatha.

Agatha tried to pull away from Lester's grip, but she was in no condition to put up a fight.

* * *

Moran made his way up the stairs to where he intended to set up, his weapon carried in its case under his arm. He heard a slight rustle and took his hand gun out and trained it on where he had heard the sound. A man he didn't recognize suddenly popped out of where he had heard the sound, the man carried a tranquilizer gun and fired it at him; Moran managed to shoot the man in his head but failed to dodge the tranquilizer dart that ended up in his thigh. Moran's entire body felt incredibly heavy, he was suddenly very aware of the entirety of his mass and strained under the weight of it. He fell to his knees and his vision began to dim, he wasn't sure if it was some additional effect of the drug or if his eyes were just closing without permission.

More men came around the corner; a few of them looked down at the dead man, all glad they didn't draw the short straw; most of them paid full attention to Moran who still had yet to completely fall. Moran tried to raise his gun to shoot, but the additional weight of the gun was too much for his already too heavy arm. A blond man turned to a much shorter man as he removed Moran's weapon from his hand, "I told you it would be enough to put him down."

The shorter man responded, "He's not out yet, you could have used a stronger dosage."

The blond man shook his head, "He might be big, but I don't think he's that big. Would you have preferred that we accidentally kill him and doom ourselves to the same fate as Roger?"

The shorter man and the rest of the group awkwardly looked away and shuddered slightly at the thought. Moran was still fighting to remain conscious, trying to regain control over his body. The shorter man looked at Moran and rolled his eyes; he took his hand and smashed the side of Moran's head into the wall rendering Moran completely unconscious. The entire group started to grab and attempt to lift Moran to take him to where Moriarty would be waiting for them, they groaned under his weight.

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and Moriarty smiled wider. Several sniper dots appeared on Sherlock's chest; Moriarty raised his shoulders with glee and smiled, "Call Johnny boy up here or I'll throw _darling_ Isabella over the edge. You know I will." Sherlock gave John the signal to come up and within a few moments John stepped out onto the rooftop, looking slightly confused. There was a moment of silence before there was a rush of cacophony filling the air.

Agatha was hauled up first, hands bound behind her back. Lester handled her very roughly and the pain he caused her was evident by the expression on her face. He pushed her so she fell on the ground in front of the other three men on the roof; John went to help her up but stopped when he noticed the red dots that had appeared on his chest. Agatha looked up, "I'm so sorry John; there was nothing I could do."

John nodded as Moriarty scowled and rolled his eyes, "Yes of course there wasn't, shut up." John glared at Moriarty who smiled wider and winked in response.

There was a tumult of noise as the group of men hauled Moran up the stairs, groaning and trying to organize themselves in such a way as to not drop him, they were heard for about fifteen minutes before they finally arrived on the roof. Moriarty scowled at them for making him wait so long. "Now we just have to wait for sleeping beauty to wake up before we can get started." Moriarty looked rather annoyed at having to wait even _more_.

John, Sherlock and Agatha all waited awkwardly, occasionally glancing at one another then to Moriarty as they waited for Moran to wake up; it was a peculiar situation to say the least, so surprisingly calm. None of them could keep the notion of _the calm before the storm_ from passing in and out of their minds. Eventually Moran began to stir; his vision was blurry and out of focus, he tried to blink things into clarity. He still felt heavy from the drugs and the blow to his head but he quickly realized what was going on, "I should have swept for bugs, shouldn't I have?" Moran grimaced at the volume of his own voice, his head really hurt.

Moriarty smiled wide, "Oh! Yes, yes you should have! I'm _so_ glad you _finally_ remembered, even if it **is** too late."

Moran managed a nod and frowned upon seeing his sister lying on the ground with her hands tied behind her back. This was going to get _very _ugly _very_ fast. He looked at Isabella who rested silently in Moriarty's arms. He hoped she would be able to sleep through this, he hoped Moriarty wouldn't hurt her; maybe Isabella could go off and get adopted by some nice couple and never be bothered ever again. Moran found the notion unlikely, but he savored the slight hope that the thought brought.

"First thing's first; Moran, we _really should_ deal with you first, don't you think?" Moriarty handed Isabella to one of his other men that stood nearby, "You've been _quite_ naughty. So, as punishment I'm taking one of your things away." Moriarty spoke as a manic parent would to a misbehaving child, a disturbing sight. Moran was scowling now, his body language ready to attack. Moriarty looked over to Agatha who still lied on the ground. "Say goodbye to your brother, darling." Agatha's face showed no emotion as Moriarty raised the gun, aiming it at her head.

"Wait, let me do it. If she's going to get killed, I should do it; I got her into this." Moran spoke as he struggled to stand.

Moriarty smiled, "I didn't know you were a fan of 'Old yeller'."

Moran rolled his eyes as he grabbed the gun that Moriarty handed to him; he checked the chamber for a round, there was none. "How am I supposed to shoot her with an unloaded gun?"

Moriarty smiled, "just to test to see if you're paying attention; never know, you might have tried to shoot me."

Moriarty handed Moran a single bullet which he promptly loaded into the chamber. He cocked the hammer back and very quickly aimed and fired it in the direction of Moriarty. There was no bang, there was no shot; nothing left the barrel of the gun. Moriarty rolled his eyes, "I took the powder out of that." He stepped forward and took the useless gun from Moran's baffled hands, pulling out one of his own and firing it at Agatha; the shot was so quiet it felt like it should have had no effect, but her body became limp and settled to the ground proving the devastation of the quiet projectile.

John and Moriarty stared at Agatha for a few moments; trying to comprehend how she could be so lifeless now; trying to come to terms with her death. John felt nauseated and Moran grew angry, "You filthy basta-"

Isabella had awoken from Moran's shouting and had begun to cry, the man holding her gently swayed her in his arms as he tried to sooth her as one of Moriarty's men stepped forward and hit Moran over the head with the handle of his gun. Moran fell to his knees; he was disoriented and was having a difficult time remaining conscious. The man had managed to hit him in the exact spot where he was hit earlier. Sherlock remained quiet as he tried to figure out ahead of time what was going to happen and what to do about it.

Moriarty made a thoughtful expression as he walked closer to Moran, inspecting his head injury. "You're lucky you didn't mark his pretty face." He said as he scowled at the man who had hit Moran. Moriarty walked around so he was behind Moran so he could place his hands on his kneeling prisoner's shoulders. "Now, as for _you two_," Moriarty directed his attention to John and Sherlock, "I have a… sort of choice for you to make, Sherlock." Moriarty smiled; Sherlock did his best to keep his face impassive but some emotion broke through. John looked like he was having difficulty processing all the information he was receiving.

Moriarty allowed the silence to fill the air for a few more moments; eventually Sherlock got tired of waiting, rolled his eyes and spoke up, "What is this choice I have to make?" Sherlock already knew, but he didn't want to face it any sooner than he absolutely _had_ to. He turned to face John, he wanted to look at John for as long as he could; emotion swelled in his stomach and he felt sick.

"You already know." Moriarty's voice was disturbingly soft.

"Indulge me." Sherlock's voice was cold.

Moriarty rolled his eyes, "Very well, Sherlock, you or Watson; who dies and who lives? Survivor gets to raise _darling_ Isabella without me interfering." Moriarty smiled at the shock that manifested on John's face, and at the broken expression on Sherlock's. Sherlock returned his gaze to John whose face silently pleaded with him to come up with something, anything to find another way.

Everyone already knew who Sherlock would choose to live, there was no real need for Sherlock to answer. John shook his head. "There's no other option? Nothing else I could do to change your mind?" Sherlock nearly pleaded, his voice remained cold.

Moriarty shook his head, "Not this time."

Sherlock kept his eyes on John, he had so many regrets; perhaps if he had asked Mycroft for help- as much as he hated the thought- or had actually followed through with Lestrade, getting his help. Sherlock shook his head, it was too late now; he internally scolded himself for being such a fool. With tears in his eyes he finally returned his attention to Moriarty, "Very well, I choose-"

The sound of a suppressed gunshot filled the air, just loud enough to cut Sherlock's sentence short. Sherlock turned to look at John; it couldn't be, _no, no,__** no, NO!**_ Sherlock would never choose for John to die, never choose for him to get hurt, never, never, **never! **Sherlock turned to Moriarty and tried to attack but felt a pinch in the backside of his thigh. Sherlock tried to speak, but it was already too late; he sank to the ground and fell unconscious.

Moriarty stood over the unconscious body of Sherlock Holmes and muttered more to himself than to anyone else on the roof, "I bet you almost thought you were going to live happily ever after." Moriarty made a face that said 'oh well' before he smiled maliciously.

* * *

When Sherlock awoke he was in a hospital bed. "Where's John?" He had to know, he needed to know. He hoped that his mind had failed him and that what he thought had happened hadn't actually happened.

Lestrade was sitting next to Sherlock's bed, "I was actually hoping that you could answer that for me."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, "You didn't find me with him?"

"No, we found you and Isabella alone on the rooftop of Bart's Hospital. You were unconscious and Isabella was crying, so we brought you back here."

Isabella was sitting in the seat next to Lestrade, she looked sad. "Are you okay, Bella the Brave?" Sherlock said her nickname in his best pirate voice in the hopes of making her smile; it worked, she smiled and nodded. Sherlock returned his attention to Lestrade, "You're sure John wasn't there?" Lestrade nodded his head and Sherlock continued, "What about Mary, John's wife? Or her brother Sebastian Moran?"

Lestrade shook his head, "No, Sherlock, it was just you and Isabella." He paused a moment before he tentatively continued, "What happened?"

Sherlock covered his face with his hands; the finger pulse oximeter was cold and uncomfortable on his face, he shook his head slightly and took in a deep breath. He lowered his hands and sat up more in the bed, "I don't- I don't remember." A lie.

Lestrade nodded, "I thought as much." They sat in silence for a while; Lestrade wasn't quite sure if he believed him or not, "Well, if you _do_ remember anything; _**please**_, Sherlock, let me know." Lestrade stood, walked to the door and opened it, "I've got two of my men just outside your door, and you can always call me if you need anything."

Sherlock nodded and Lestrade left the room without further discussion.

* * *

A few hours later Lestrade received a report that the bodies of John and Mary Watson had been found at a pool. No one at the yard knew or cared that it was the same pool where Carl Powers died back in '89. Lestrade was quiet, he didn't want to have to go see Sherlock at the hospital just to tell him that John Watson was dead. The entire yard was quiet; even Sally Donovan made none of her usual snide remarks about how Sherlock was a freak or a psychopath, she didn't even think them.

Lestrade waited as long as he justifiably could before he went to 221B to visit Sherlock. He had been informed earlier that Sherlock had checked himself out of the hospital and dismissed the officers that Lestrade had assigned to guard him.

Upon his arrival Lestrade was greeted by Mrs. Hudson at the front door, he asked her how Sherlock was and she just shook her head. Lestrade made his way up the stairs to see Sherlock sitting in John's seat, curled up like some cat. Isabella sat in Sherlock's usual seat, swinging her little legs over the edge.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade began, he received no response from the genius. Lestrade really didn't want to have to do this, "We found John."

"Bad news." Sherlock already knew, Lestrade could see that he had figured it out by the red eyes that were sore from crying.

Lestrade nodded, "Him and Mary, both. Head shots. I'm so sorry Sherlock."

"Did you find Sebastian Moran with them?"

Lestrade shook his head, "Just Mary and John." Sherlock thought on this for a moment; so Moran must still be alive, he wasn't so sure that was a good thing. Lestrade looked awkward and when he spoke it was hesitant, "Look, I'm not letting you on this case. It would just be _too_ personal for you." To his surprise Sherlock simply nodded and accepted his decision. Lestrade raised his eyebrows at that; he had expected at least _some_ sort of an argument, one which he half expected to lose.

* * *

A/N: No reviews last chapter? Oh well, there's still a few more chapters to go, so please don't stop reading! And if you're nice and **review** and **keep reading** I might give you guys the **alternative ending chapters**. :D thanks for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites. Also, I fixed the misspelling of Lestrade's name; hopefully I got them all. :P


	24. Chapter 24: Cracks in the Foundation

**Warning**: This chapter contains some _**slight**_ psychological and physical torture.

(This chapter is over the span of a few weeks, I'm not sure how long)

Chapter 24: Cracks in the Foundation

Moran woke in a room that was pitch black and deadly silent. He was sitting up in a steel chair. His arms and legs were free but he could feel two wires wrapped tightly around his neck; the wires weren't tight enough as to strangle him, but they held him firmly in place and he suspected that it wouldn't require much tightening before they really did begin to choke. Moran didn't understand why his arms and legs were free; he decided to try to remove the wire from around his neck. He managed to loosen one of the wires only to tighten the other. He loosened the one he inadvertently tightened and the one he had just loosened retightened to its original tension. He now understood why his arms were free, they wouldn't be of much use to him. He decided to test the ground and tried to push up from the chair. The chair was bolted to the ground and would not move, he only succeeded in slightly strangling himself. He now understood why his legs were free.

Moran began drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair; he'd have to wait for whatever was next.

* * *

Sherlock was Isabella's godfather; he gained custody of her and now was her sole guardian. Harry phoned him up a few times to ask how they were doing; they saw each other once at the service that was held for John and Mary and now both their urns now sat on top of the fireplace like a couple's would. Sherlock cringed at having to let the police force try to get Moriarty; he contemplated asking Mycroft to get him, quick and off the books. He didn't though, lately he hadn't been doing all that much. It took a lot of effort to get out of bed each morning; he just wanted to lay in bed and smell John forever. But each morning he would get out of bed to take care of Isabella; it's what John would have wanted.

Sherlock chastised himself internally: _John would have wanted to live; that's what he would have wanted._ Still, considering the situation Sherlock was sure that John would have wanted him to continue to take care of Isabella. Sherlock did everything he should; he even continued to take Isabella to daycare despite not seeing the point.

One day when Isabella was at daycare Sherlock found some mint chocolates hidden in the cupboard. He didn't recognize them, he couldn't remember buying them or seeing John buying them. He tried one, it tasted of John's kiss and Sherlock cried until he had to pick up Isabella up from daycare.

* * *

Moran had no idea how long he had been there, it was starting to get to him. He squirmed against the wires around his neck and tried to keep calm; he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the dark silence. "Hello, love." Moriarty's voice softened the silence through the darkness. Moran startled a bit at the sound, how had Moriarty come into the room without him hearing or noticing?

"Fuck off," Hardly original or creative but Moran wasn't in his best condition at that moment.

Slowly the lights began to turn on, growing from just the slightest light to a dim glow. Moran could see all of Moriarty's face in the gentle light, "That's okay darling; you're just upset." Moriarty took Moran's hand into his own. Moran pulled his hand away too quickly and the jerking motion caused the wire around his neck to dig into the skin a little. "No, no sweetie; be careful, you don't want to hurt yourself."

Moran scoffed, "I seriously doubt you care."

Moriarty nodded and frowned as though he were accepting heart break from the love of his life, "I do, I really do. I just hope someday I can prove to you _just_ how much I care for you." Moriarty turned his back and walked out of the room.

The lights shut off in time with the click of the door closing and Moran was left in the dark again, "You could have let my sister live!" he called into the empty darkness.

* * *

Isabella's face appeared at Sherlock's eye level; he had been curled up in John's chair again. Isabella offered him a flower, "Daddy!"

Sherlock did his best to smile; he still hated being called that, John was daddy. Sherlock was just the man who let them down. "Thank you, where did you get this?"

"There!" Isabella pointed at a vase that contained a lovely arrangement of flowers; hm, Mrs. Hudson must have brought more flowers in an attempt to brighten things up.

* * *

Moran's eyes readjusted to the darkness after Moriarty's departure, he wondered to himself how much longer it would be until Moriarty tried something else. He wondered when the beatings or pain would begin. He started to wish the pain would hurry up and come, he hated all this waiting. Suddenly a picture was projected, bright, on the wall. Moran closed his eyes and tried to turn away from the sight, the picture of his smiling sister burning at his retinas. He strangled himself slightly in his attempt to shift away, he gaged and tried to control his breathing once the room returned to its darkened state.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson sat across from Sherlock at the table that was covered with old newspaper, various case files and the vase containing the now wilting flowers. Sherlock never really acknowledged her presence in the flat aside from accepting the tea she would hand him. She would come every morning for tea anyway; it made her feel better that he wasn't all alone, and she enjoyed visiting with Isabella who had been growing so much and had been learning lots of new words. Isabella was at daycare today, Mrs. Hudson could feel Sherlock's loneliness radiating from his poor posture and lethargic state; he seemed sadder than she would have ever thought possible.

Mrs. Hudson finished the last sip of her tea and stood to throw the wilting flowers in the garbage. "So dear, have any interesting cases?" She figured he wouldn't answer but she had to say _something_. Sherlock simply shook his head ever so slightly, Mrs. Hudson would take whatever she could get; from her point of view this was a great improvement. "That's too bad, maybe something interesting will show up soon?" Sherlock made no sign he heard her this time. Instead he simply stood and went to the roof to look at his bees. He hadn't been caring for them lately, he would only go up there to watch them fly around, busy in their hive. They were slowly turning wild.

Mrs. Hudson left the flat but looked back with sad eyes. She wasn't sure what she should do.

* * *

"Hello, love." Moriarty's voice purred softly through the cold darkness, Moran tried his best not to enjoy the sound. Slowly the room was lit with a very dim glow, easy on Moran's eyes. "Oh sweetie! You're all dirty." Moriarty looked down at the soiled seat and made a pouty face.

"That's only because you haven't let me go to the washroom." Moran was indignant.

Moriarty shook his head with pursed lips, "No, dear, you didn't ask."

Technically it was true but Moran continued to argue anyway, "You wouldn't have let me if I had asked."

Moriarty shrugged, "Why don't you ask then?"

Moran scowled and rolled his eyes, "May I go to the washroom to clean up?"

"Moran, I told you I don't like it when you're annoyed with me. Don't be annoyed with me."

"See, I knew you wouldn't let me." Moran crossed his arms over his chest.

Moriarty scowled, "I didn't say you couldn't, just ask me nicely!"

Moran couldn't believe this but he decided to go along with it for the moment, "Okay, I'm sorry. Please, may I go to the washroom to clean up?"

Moriarty smiled and nodded, walked around behind him and unscrewed the mechanism which held the wire from the base, a long pole slid out from the ground and Moran could feel himself being released from the chair, but not from the wire. The pole touched his back as he stood and he held it at the right level with one hand behind his back to avoid strangulation. Moriarty gestured to a side door for Moran to go through, "There's clean clothes in there for you."

Moran skeptically took the handle of the door and began to open it. He wasn't sure what would be on the other side of the door, he made himself ready for a trap. There was no trap inside the room, it was just a washroom and there really _was_ some fresh clothes for him to change into. Moran cleaned himself up and changed into the clean clothes.

Moran didn't leave the washroom right away, he stood in the dim light debating his next move. Moriarty would still be in the next room, there were no other exits in this one. Surely there had to be guards outside the door, perhaps a lock? Did Moran want to risk an escape _now_ when he didn't have enough information; even knowing that if he were to make an escape attempt and was recaptured his treatment could get much worse? Moran internally scolded himself, that's exactly the point of all this; get Moran to submit, to obey Moriarty and _all_ his commands; to behave in order to avoid future punishment. It was already too late to avoid punishment.

He'd have to make a break for it, he couldn't stand that dark room much longer anyway. He didn't care anymore, he'd rather half ass an escape than not try at all. He put his shirt over the pole so it would be less likely to catch on something or be caught by someone. The weight of it still strangled him slightly, he took the belt from his pants and tried to secure it to his back to take the weight off his neck. He had several disadvantages now: he was already being strangled, his mobility had been restricted by the pipe, he wasn't in his best condition due to sitting in that chair for however long, he hadn't eaten in however long, he was dehydrated, and once he got out of the room the lights would likely be much brighter than they were in here and the other room- he would likely be blinded slightly from the shock. He seriously doubted that he would be able to make it out of the building.

He thought about it for a few more moments, perhaps he'd get lucky and get himself killed. He would prefer that to sitting in the quiet darkness.

Moran burst out of the washroom abruptly, hit Moriarty to the ground and burst out the door. He found himself in another completely dark room and his eyes began to readjust to the darkness, he started to make his way along the walls looking for a door. Moran found his hand on the door handle just as he heard Moriarty call out, "No, Seb, don't!" Moran paused a moment but then pushed the door open to reveal blinding light, he recoiled back into the darkness of the room and felt a shock run through his body starting at the wires around his neck as he fell to his knees. Above him he could see a woman holding the remote that triggered the electric shock; she looked like Agatha.

* * *

Lestrade stood awkwardly in the doorway of 221B; he really needed Sherlock's help but he didn't want to be inconsiderate to how Sherlock was feeling. It was still an odd notion to adjust to, having to be considerate to Sherlock's feelings was not something Lestrade would have thought he'd ever have to do. "Sherlock, have you heard about those murders-"

"Yes. Not interested."

Lestrade nodded, he didn't want to push Sherlock too hard; "Okay, I also stopped by to see how you're doing?"

"Do you have any news of Moriarty?"

Lestrade really hoped that Sherlock wouldn't ask about that, "Erm, no. The trail's kind of gone cold, sorry Sherlock."

"I'm fine." Sherlock was curled up in John's seat again, it seemed like every time Lestrade saw him that's what the genius was doing; especially if he came while Isabella was away at daycare.

"Are you sure? If there's anything I can-"

"I'm **fine**, Lestrade. Perhaps you should go and put your incompetency to use elsewhere."

Lestrade nodded and left the flat without saying goodbye.

* * *

Moran awoke, the lights were incredibly dim but he could easily make out Moriarty crouching next to him, holding his hand. Moran was strapped back into the seat, the two wires still stinging around his neck. "You had me so worried! I tried to tell you not to leave, but you wouldn't listen. I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"It's your fault."

"What?"

"All this is your fault."

Moriarty shook his head, "No, I wasn't the one who revolted, I didn't want to kill you or your sister, _you_ made me do it. You tried to have me killed! I didn't want any of this, I promise you. I would never hurt you."

Moran wanted to shake his head, but the wires around his neck made him think better of it, "You had me electrocuted."

"That wasn't me that was just one of my employees. I'm so sorry, that won't happen again unless _you_ make it happen."

"Stop blaming things on me, this isn't my fault."

Moriarty frowned very visibly in the dim light, "We could have been happy together, Agatha didn't have to die. Why did you have to try to take over and have me killed?" Moran didn't answer, "It was because of Agatha, wasn't it?" Moran didn't say anything, it had been Moriarty's treatment of Agatha that had pushed him over the edge.

Moriarty held up a water bottle, "Do you want some water?"

Moran didn't trust it, he suspected it would be drugged, "No."

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

"Can you really blame me?" Moran managed to shrug without causing himself too much pain.

Moriarty stood, "Don't be afraid to call for me if you change your mind or need to use the washroom."

With the click of the door closing behind Moriarty the lights flicked off again, leaving Moran to think in the darkness of what had happened since his arrival in this dark room.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore, he had to do it. He didn't care, he picked up his mobile and dialed the number. When he heard his call had been answered he didn't wait to speak, "Mycroft, come over to 221B; I have a favor to ask of you. It's the _least_ you could do."

Mycroft arrived within the hour; both brothers' postures were extremely guarded. "Been playing pirates again, I see." Mycroft asked based off of some evidence only visible to him.

"Isabella likes it." Sherlock's voice was cold and defensive.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, "I'm sure she does. Isabella…" Mycroft trailed off slightly to show he was waiting for additional information, "… Watson?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, "Isabella Wilhelmina Watson."

Mycroft nearly grimaced, "Well, how sentimental of him."

_Of course it was, John was a romantic. _"Look, Mycroft, I didn't call you here to discuss baby names."

"Didn't you?"

Sherlock scowled, "No, I didn't." He sat down in johns chair as he peaked his hands in a pyramid just below his chin and continued, "Take care of Moriarty, you can do it off the books. That's all I need from you." There were still traces of a scowl just below the surface of Sherlock's mask of indifference.

The brothers sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Mycroft finally answered, "I'm sorry Sherlock, but I can't."

Sherlock scoffed, "What, are you waiting for me to say '_please'_?"

"No, it's not that _simple_. You took your time, you wasted time. You gave Moriarty time he could use, he used it wisely. He's infiltrated multiple sects of the government and is putting up red tape everywhere I look. I can't get my own job done, let alone yours."

"Deal with his men then deal with him, what do I care?" Sherlock's aggravation was growing; he stood and began to pace the room.

"I can't prove they're Moriarty's men! My reputation has been tarnished; I may be out of a job if things continue as they are! Sherlock, I can't do this for you. I am sorry." Mycroft nearly lost his handle on his emotions but managed to calm himself.

Sherlock considered what Mycroft had said; he contemplated making some sort of snide remark but ultimately decided against it. Mycroft rose from his seat and walked to the door, "I am sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock shrugged, "For good reason." Then he was gone, disappeared into his and John's bedroom- his, his room. Mycroft scowled then turned to descend the stairs and leave the flat.

* * *

A/N: Thanks again for reading, reviewing, the follows and the favorites. Sorry this chapter isn't much happier either. The story's almost over so don't worry, please review!


	25. Chapter 25: Breaking Down

Slight **Warning: **Moran's still in the dark room, so slight psychological torture.

Chapter 25: Breaking Down

Sherlock paced the room and watched Isabella as she played with her toys. Every time he looked at her he thought of John and he was dragged into a room of his mind which his heart couldn't bear. He thought of Moriarty, free and happy. So sure he had won, if Sherlock got on the case again then Moriarty would be caught. Surely if he threw himself completely into the case he'd be able to catch the spider at the center of the web? Sherlock took Isabella downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat and told her that he needed her to watch Isabella for a few hours. If he just could catch Moriarty then everything would be better, he could raise Isabella without this terrible nagging _feeling_ picking at the back of his head.

Mrs. Hudson agreed to watch Isabella, she didn't have the heart to turn him down such a simple request. She didn't ask where he was going, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sherlock hit the streets to try to gather as much information as he could, it was a nice change to get out of the house and be doing something productive. He tried to shove the thought that he could do most of this via phone or email out of his mind and relished the feeling of moving through the streets of London again.

* * *

Moran really didn't want to call out for anything, but he wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd seen or heard anything other than the small noises he made. He didn't want to call out, he wouldn't. "I need water." He scowled at himself; the only source of redemption was that he hadn't pleaded.

"I'm glad you didn't wait too long." Moriarty's soft voice soothed through the brightening darkness. Moran tried to keep his thoughts negative; Moriarty _didn't_ look like an angel in the dim light, he _wasn't _glad that he answered his call. "I was worried that you'd wait until you died of dehydration." Moriarty held up a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap and brought it close to Moran's lips.

Moran scowled, "I can do that." He snatched the bottle from Moriarty's hands.

Moriarty frowned and nodded, "Of course you can." He looked genuinely hurt and Moran tried not to be bothered by it.

"Stop that." Moran said between long sips. _God,_ the water tasted _so_ good. Moriarty looked confused in the dim light. Moran rolled his eyes, "You know exactly what you're doing. Stop it, it's not going to work. I'm not going to break that easily."

Moriarty shook his head, "I'm sorry that you don't understand, I just wish there was something I could do to prove to you that I care for you-"

Moran interrupted Moriarty midsentence, "No, don't give me that bull shit. Stop it, get out. Go."

Moriarty stood and went to the door, nodded slowly once then spoke quietly, "We were fine until _Agatha_ showed up. She's the one who turned you against me, this is all her fault."

Moran wanted to shake his head, he stopped himself from drinking all the water at once. He didn't want to waste any of it or have to go to the washroom too soon. The longer he could go without seeing Moriarty, the better.

Just as his eyes had readjusted to the darkness the picture of Agatha flashed on the wall again, burning his eyes. It had been this way for he couldn't tell how long. He lost count of how many times he had seen the picture of his smiling sister flashed up on the wall, how many times his eyes had burned from the light, how many times he had cursed her image for bringing him pain, for bringing him to this situation.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He could tell he was already breaking, he found himself starting to _hate_ Agatha and he wanted to feel sorry for what he'd done, the position he put Moriarty in. He tried to turn the hate to Moriarty but found himself wondering why he was so determined to hate the man that had been so kind to him throughout his career. Moran always got the best jobs, the best pay, Moriarty never betrayed him until he betrayed Moriarty.

The last surviving bits of Moran wondered how long he would last before Moriarty succeeded in breaking him down and rebuilding him to his liking. The rest of him scolded himself for being so critical of Moriarty.

* * *

Sherlock returned home from a hard day of gathering information from his homeless network. He hadn't actually found _any_ information. Sherlock was sure that the information was there, he just wasn't seeing it. His mind kept wandering to thoughts of John, and by the time he realized it he was already talking to someone else in some different location. He scolded himself and tried to pay more attention to his actions. He couldn't just wander around the streets of London like a blubbering fool asking if anyone's seen Moriarty.

Mrs. Hudson stopped him in the hall, "You've been out for two days! I've been getting worried that something's happened to you!" she chastised him, "I don't mind watching Isabella, but I can't watch her _that_ long, Sherlock, I've got things to do!" Lestrade was standing just behind her with his hands on his hips.

Sherlock nodded, had he really been out for _two _days? He had been even less productive than he had thought.

"Where were you Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock didn't want to answer, so instead he simply picked up Isabella in his arms and began carrying her upstairs to 221B, he didn't want to look at her. She just reminded him of his failure.

Isabella was trying to say something to him, he didn't catch it. He simply nodded in response and called Molly to see if she could look after Isabella for a while. Molly agreed and Sherlock packed some of Isabella's things and made his way downstairs. Lestrade tried to question him again and assure him that whatever he was going through that there were people who cared for him. Sherlock waved him off and said he was taking Isabella out for a bit.

Sherlock arrived at Molly's flat with Isabella and the bag of her stuff he had packed. Molly had barely opened the door when he started talking, "It's a long case so I might be away for a few days with little to no communication, would that be fine?"

"Er, yea, sure. No problem, I don't mind." Molly moved aside from the door to allow Sherlock and little Isabella entrance to the flat. Isabella looked sad, Molly hoped she could cheer her up a little. She figured she wouldn't be able to help much; losing a parent is tough, but she could try. Sherlock was out of the flat as quickly as he had entered it, Molly stood in slight shock at the abruptness of it all for a few moments before she turned to Isabella to offer her a cookie and asked if she wanted to play with the cats.

Sherlock had been gone for _four_ days, _four_ days without a word; a few is two or three, _not_ four or more! Isabella was on the verge of tears; she was _so _convinced that Sherlock hated her. Molly had to cancel a reconciliation dinner with Tom to care for Isabella. Tom wasn't pleased when he found out _why_ she had to cancel, instead the wall that had grown between them just increased in size.

Molly had to take Isabella to daycare, which she supposed she was thankful for; with Isabella at daycare she could go to work. Each day that passed Isabella became more and more convinced that Sherlock hated her. On the fifth day, a Saturday Molly tried to phone Sherlock. She tried to phone him several times, but each time there was no answer. She phoned a friend to come watch Isabella for her and went out searching for Sherlock.

It didn't take her long, she always heard about the homeless network and people were willing to help her out when she mentioned Isabella. They all remembered the significance of the name from when John had been alive. Everyone asked Molly if she could help Sherlock, they said that he seemed off somehow. Everyone was concerned.

Molly found him in some back alley talking to a rather unclean looking fellow. He was purchasing cocaine.

* * *

The darkness was getting to him, it was _really_ getting to him. The picture of Agatha flashed on the wall, he cringed and jerked away; Moran hadn't called for Moriarty since he needed more water and had to use the washroom. The water was all gone now and Moran was sure he was going to go insane soon. "Jim!" He called into the darkness, "Jim please! Don't leave me alone in here anymore!" Tears began to slowly fill his eyes as he tried to control his breathing.

"Calm down; calm down, love." Moriarty's voice soothed through the slowly brightening darkness and he gently took Moran's hand in his own. "It's okay, I'm here. Don't worry about a thing." Slowly Moran's breathing began to return to normal and a tentative smile spread across his face. Moriarty smiled in return, "Oh sweetie, look at you. You've lost so much weight. Good thing I brought you some soup." He revealed a container of soup that he had hidden behind his back.

Moran smiled wider, "Thank you." He thought to himself of how considerate Moriarty was being and wondered how things had come to this. Moriarty brought the spoonful of soup up to Moran's mouth and Moran allowed Moriarty to feed him. There wasn't much soup so it didn't take long to finish; Moran was glad there wasn't too much soup, Moriarty had brought the perfect amount and Moran found himself satisfied but not uncomfortably full. It would take a few weeks of eating regular meals and getting regular exorcise before Moran's appetite returned to normal.

"Please let me come back, I'm so sorry for everything that happened." Moran practically pleaded.

Moriarty moved to behind the chair and fiddled slightly with the base of the pipe that held him in place, loosening _both_ wires around his neck slightly. "There, is that better?"

Moran found himself able to nod; he still wouldn't be able to slip out of the wire but things were considerably more comfortable now. Moran was hopeful for the first time in he didn't know how long, "Can I come back?"

Moriarty shook his head slightly and Moran felt his heart breaking before Moriarty continued, "Not yet. You'll have to prove you're a good boy first."

Moran nodded enthusiastically, "I will, I will; I promise."

* * *

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" Molly called from the main road into the alley. Sherlock turned to see her and shrunk away into the shadows with shame. "You get out here _**right**_ _**NOW**_!" Molly called to him with such assertiveness that she didn't even know she could muster.

Slowly Sherlock reappeared into the daylight and sulked forward to talk to Molly; the only words that came out were, "How do you know my full name?"

Molly didn't acknowledge his question, instead she asked one of her own, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock managed to cover his devastation with the mask of indifference as he spoke, "I believe you know what I'm doing."

"Buying drugs?" Molly was indignant.

Sherlock nodded and stepped back a few paces when Molly stepped forward. He didn't want to get slapped again.

"How dare you!"

Sherlock didn't want to listen to this, "It's my body. I'll do what I want with it." Internally Sherlock scolded himself; hardly a mature line of defense, but he hoped it would be adequate.

"It's not _just_ you that you have to look after now though!" Molly refused to be deterred and plowed on through her short speech without allowing Sherlock to interrupt again, "You have Isabella, she relies on you! And right now, she's at _my_ flat convinced that you're trying to give her away and that you _**hate**_ her!"

Sherlock looked shocked, he looked as though he wanted to sit down but refused to do so, "She thinks that?"

"Yes." Molly didn't want to appear _too _sympathetic at the moment, she wanted Sherlock to listen to her and to do the right thing.

"I'm a terrible guardian."

Molly shook her head, "You're a wonderful father, but only when you're home. You can't be a good dad if you never see or talk to her." Sherlock looked up from the ground to her with what was almost a hopeful smile on his face. "You have to come home, take Isabella home. She needs you, you both just lost someone very important in your lives. You can't just abandon her right now."

Sherlock nodded and returned to Molly's flat with her to pick up Isabella and take her home. He apologized to her when he saw her and told her that he'd do better, he told her that he loves her very much. Molly wanted to ask why he was buying drugs, but decided that now probably wasn't the time. Molly hoped he hadn't actually taken any drugs when she found him.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter after this, hope you guys are still enjoying. Thanks for reading, the follows and the favorites. Don't forget to review! :D


	26. Chapter 26: The Secret Room

**Warning**: some references to drug use.

Chapter 26: The Secret Room

Sherlock arrived home with Isabella to find Mycroft sitting in what used to be Sherlock's seat. "What do you want, _Mycroft_?"

"I know what you've been up to."

"Oh, you know what I've been up to, but you can't find out what Moriarty's up to? How convenient."

"You can't keep going like this, Sherlock. You need to be careful."

"Or what?"

"I can't protect you forever."

"Since _when_ do _you_ protect _me_?" Sherlock all but spat the words at Mycroft.

Mycroft looked down slightly then he stood and continued, "Very well, Sherlock, if you want to be that way I can't stop you. However, I thought I should tell you that I've been reassigned to the states. I leave tomorrow."

Sherlock shrugged, "why would I care?"

Mycroft didn't bother to say anything else as he left the flat.

-A multiple months later-

Sherlock ran through the streets to avoid the police officers that had been chasing him; he had to get away, far away. He didn't really care where anymore, just somewhere that wasn't here. No more cases, no more anything, no more phone calls laced with pity, no more Lestrade trying to get him clean and especially no more drug raids. Drugs were expensive, what did Lestrade think he was doing _flushing_ them? Lestrade was such a fool, he didn't understand; he could _never_ understand. Sherlock needed the drugs to keep the thoughts of John from burning, he had to catch Moriarty! That was the most important thing.

Sherlock thumped into a large man, fell to the ground and nearly took the large man with him. Sherlock turned and looked up to find Sebastian Moran staring down at him with a smile. "What happened to your hair?" Sherlock asked gesturing to Moran's normally jet black hair as he stood.

Moran pointed to the symbol of white growing amidst his black hair, "This?"

Sherlock nodded, "obviously."

"Still not my biggest fan after all we've been through?"

Sherlock simply stared ice at him.

"Well, if you _must_ know it's from a process known as cold branding. It's when-"

Sherlock put his hand up, "I know. Obvious, but what happened?"

"Jim-"

"Moriarty." Sherlock corrected.

"Jim," Moran asserted, "was kind enough to forgive me after I betrayed him. But he needed to know that I wasn't trying to trick him, so this was the one and only thing he asked."

"Nope. It's not the only thing he's asked you for."

"Everything else I volunteered, I offered."

"I'm sure he made it seem that way, made you think it was your idea. But it never was."

Moran scowled, "Don't try to twist things, you don't know. What would you know? You've been high for the past, what, five months?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Lost count." The two men stood in silence for a few moments before Sherlock continued, "So he broke you then?"

Moran shook his head, "No, he fixed me. I was broken, but not now."

Sherlock could tell this conversation was going to go in circles, he didn't want to deal with it. "Ah, I see. Well, isn't that good for you." Sherlock mocked a sarcastic smile, "Do you happen to know where Moriarty is? I'd kind of like to murder him, if you don't mind."

Moran laughed and crossed his arms over his chest, "I do know where he is, _and_ I know you're not going to kill him."

"Is that what you know?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes and leaned back slightly.

Moran nodded, "Yes, when it comes down to it you don't want to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, this was like talking to an overly religious person who would _only_ talk about how great their faith was in an attempt to convert everyone around them. "Sure, sure. Just take me to him and I'm sure I'll prove you right."

Moran smiled, "You should be able to read the evidence off me to deduce where he is."

Sherlock looked Moran up and down; there was plenty of evidence there, but Sherlock couldn't make anything of it.

"Or do you just want to score some of this?" Moran held up a small bag of cocaine and raised it well above his head when Sherlock tried to snatch it from his grasp. Moran laughed and Sherlock took a few steps back to regain his composure. "We'll be seeing you around, Sherlock. Even _you_ should be able to find us." Moran paused, "sooner or later, anyway." Then began to walk away from Sherlock then turned back to him to add almost as an afterthought, "And don't forget, we can always find you."

Sherlock scowled as he watched Moran's back retreat from him; of course Sherlock could find them, what was Moran insinuating? Sherlock tried to follow Moran but was quickly given the slip. Sherlock wanted more cocaine; his mind was strewn with thoughts of the drug and of John. He wished he could burn the thoughts out of his mind with cocaine, but the thoughts of John were persistent; more persistent than those of cocaine.

He found himself missing Isabella; maybe she would let him see her, if he phoned and asked nicely? Sherlock dialed Harry's number and waited for her to answer, when she finally did answer she didn't sound very friendly.

"Can I see her? Please?" Sherlock held his mobile to his ear awkwardly, his other arm folded across his chest.

"No. You can't."

"Please, I just… I just need to see her." There was silence on the other end of the line, "Please, I'm sorry about the last time; it won't happen again, I promise."

Harry's voice was surprisingly gentle, "Are you clean?"

Sherlock licked his lips, "Yes."

"Liar." Harry scolded him and her voice took on that firm tone again that he was so used to hearing, "You can't come here. You're not allowed to see her. Go to rehab, get clean. But don't come here. If you come here I'll call the cops." Harry hated being in this position, she didn't like all the responsibility that had been thrust on her and she didn't like outliving her little brother.

Sherlock felt cold at the sudden click disconnecting their call. He wanted to go home, but he didn't have a home anymore. Mrs. Hudson had finally had enough and evicted him; he wasn't sure how long ago.

-Yet more months pass-

Sherlock was lying in an abandoned doorway in an alley. He was out of cocaine and his mind was itching with thoughts of the drug and thoughts of John. Two men approached him, he didn't pay them any attention; they didn't matter, they couldn't give him what he wanted. The men stopped in front of him, he looked up from their shoes to look at their faces. "Moran and Moriarty, how lovely to see you both." Sherlock scowled at them, he looked so long for any trace of Moriarty and now he stood in front of him so casually. Moriarty thought that Sherlock could do him no harm, Sherlock hated him.

"Oh, I'm surprised that you recognized us." Moriarty smiled down at Sherlock, looked up to Moran then returned his attention to Sherlock, "How've you been? It's been a while."

Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile, "Oh, I've been _wonderful_."

"How'd you like to come home with us?" Moriarty did all the talking while Moran simply stood next to him silently. Sherlock scowled and Moriarty took out a small bag containing cocaine, "I have plenty of this back at my place."

Sherlock looked up the small bag and his mind swam with thoughts of relief; he bit his lip, maybe just a little more. Sherlock managed to stand and reached for the small bag, Moriarty removed it from his reach, "ah-ah-ah, no darling, you'll have to come home with me first."

Moriarty smiled a cruel grin and Sherlock collapsed to his knees and hugged Moriarty's legs, "Okay, fine. Just let me have some."

Sherlock followed Moriarty home and had his share of cocaine, his mind swam and he was free again. He roamed the halls of his mind palace to find the secret room he had tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone, he entered it. With the cocaine he didn't mind opening that door to go inside; to go inside and visit with John. Just a shade of the beauty that was John, but it was the best that even Sherlock could do. He retreated into his mind palace so he wouldn't care what Moriarty did anymore.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's a short chapter, and kind of an abrupt ending? I don't know. Please review so I have some idea of how I did! I would love to know your opinions so I can improve and such. Thanks for sticking with me so far, thanks for reading, following and the favorites. Let me know if you guys want the **alternate ending chapters**. :) Also, I have a vague idea for a **sequel**? Might not be as good just because John's dead, but if you guys are interested in either the **alternate ending** or the **sequel** let me know :)

Also, I'm changing my penname from jprofilidunnowatImdoinghere to yoursupervillain (it's just a little less gibberish-y)

**Head Canons for this story: **

JOHN DRESSES UP AS A BEE FOR ISABELLA'S FIRST HALLOWEEN AND SHERLOCK WILL BE A PIRATE, ISABELLA WOULD BE A CAT… does England have Halloween?

When Sherlock was little he wanted to be a father. Mycroft would tell him that pirates don't make good fathers, and his little heart would break. He always wanted a daughter named Isabella but decided against it because of sentiment and because he was never attracted to women, or anyone really. (I have the head canon that Sherlock is demi-sexual with a military kink)

Molly takes Isabella to work with her and shows her all the different brains she's working with and awkwardly talks to her.

When they first harvest the honey, Sherlock will get stung a bunch of times, but only he will get stung just because he's over enthused, when John tries the honey he compliments Sherlock and Sherlock just beams with pride.

Sherlock will make John read things to him sometimes. John will get annoyed.


	27. ALT: Chapter 23: Prepare to Break

A/N: only one person showed any interest in the alternate ending; but whatever, it's already written so here you go.

**Warning: Character Death… Someone may jump off the roof (- big spoiler, sorry)**

This chapter starts out the same as the original version, but the last half is different.

* * *

**ALT:** Chapter 23: Prepare to Break

Sherlock stepped out onto the roof to find Moriarty sitting in the same spot as the day of the fall; this time he held Isabella close to his chest instead of his mobile, there was no music playing just the silence of the roof. John was waiting inside, halfway up the stairs and ready to intervene upon the signal. Moriarty smiled as Sherlock approached, Sherlock's face remained impassive as Moriarty began speaking, "I do love all your little plans." Sherlock arched an eyebrow and Moriarty continued while nodding, "They're so cute. You think you can win, but you can't win."

* * *

Agatha was straining with the weight of her weapon as she carried it in its case with both arms. Normally it would be nothing to carry, she'd take it under one arm and still be able to move swiftly without any noise; however, with her ribs in the state they were it was a much more cumbersome burden. She heard a noise just behind her, before she had a chance to turn, grab her gun from her hip and fire there was a fist being thrust into her already wounded ribs. She had no chance to regain control over her reactions before she dropped her weapon and brought her arms up in an instinctual attempt to protect her ribs. Her gun was taken from her holster and she was hit over the head with the handle of it. She fell the rest of the distance to the floor where she managed to land on her hands and knees despite being disoriented. A foot came in quick, hitting her in the chest and lifting her off the ground. Agatha closed her eyes and her face contorted in pain as she began coughing and gasping for air.

Lester looked down at her in anger, "Fuck you, almost had my entire family killed over your little stunt." He kicked her in the ribs again before he grabbed a fist full of her hair, bound her arms behind her back and started dragging her towards where Moriarty waited for them. The two other men he had brought for back up walked slightly behind them with guns trained on Agatha.

Agatha tried to pull away from Lester's grip, but she was in no condition to put up a fight.

* * *

Moran made his way up the stairs to where he intended to set up, his weapon carried in its case under his arm. He heard a slight rustle and took his hand gun out and trained it on where he had heard the sound. A man he didn't recognize suddenly popped out of where he had heard the sound, the man carried a tranquilizer gun and fired it at him; Moran managed to shoot the man in his head but failed to dodge the tranquilizer dart that ended up in his thigh. Moran's entire body felt incredibly heavy, he was suddenly very aware of the entirety of his mass and strained under the weight of it. He fell to his knees and his vision began to dim, he wasn't sure if it was some additional effect of the drug or if his eyes were just closing without permission.

More men came around the corner; a few of them looked down at the dead man, all glad they didn't draw the short straw; most of them paid full attention to Moran who still had yet to completely fall. Moran tried to raise his gun to shoot, but the additional weight of the gun was too much for his already too heavy arm. A blond man turned to a much shorter man as he removed Moran's weapon from his hand, "I told you it would be enough to put him down."

The shorter man responded, "He's not out yet, you could have used a stronger dosage."

The blond man shook his head, "He might be big, but I don't think he's that big. Would you have preferred that we accidentally kill him and doom ourselves to the same fate as Roger?"

The shorter man and the rest of the group awkwardly looked away and shuddered slightly at the thought. Moran was still fighting to remain conscious, trying to regain control over his body. The shorter man looked at Moran and rolled his eyes; he took his hand and smashed the side of Moran's head into the wall rendering Moran completely unconscious. The entire group started to grab and attempt to lift Moran to take him to where Moriarty would be waiting for them, they groaned under his weight.

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and Moriarty smiled wider. Several sniper dots appeared on Sherlock's chest; Moriarty raised his shoulders with glee and smiled, "Call Johnny boy up here or I'll throw _darling_ Isabella over the edge. You know I will." Sherlock gave John the signal to come up and within a few moments John stepped out onto the rooftop, looking slightly confused and was quickly disarmed. There was a moment of silence before there was a rush of cacophony filling the air.

Agatha was hauled up first, hands bound behind her back. Lester handled her very roughly and the pain he caused her was evident by the expression on her face. He pushed her so she fell on the ground in front of the other three men on the roof; John went to help her up but stopped when he noticed the red dots that had appeared on his chest. Agatha looked up, "I'm so sorry John; there was nothing I could do."

John nodded as Moriarty scowled and rolled his eyes, "Yes of course there wasn't, shut up." John glared at Moriarty who smiled wider and winked in response.

There was a tumult of noise as the group of men hauled Moran up the stairs, groaning and trying to organize themselves in such a way as to not drop him, they were heard for about fifteen minutes before they finally arrived on the roof. Moriarty scowled at them for making him wait so long. "Now we just have to wait for sleeping beauty to wake up before we can get started." Moriarty looked rather annoyed at having to wait even _more_.

John, Sherlock and Agatha all waited awkwardly, occasionally glancing at one another then to Moriarty as they waited for Moran to wake up; it was a peculiar situation to say the least, so surprisingly calm. None of them could keep the notion of _the calm before the storm_ from passing in and out of their minds. Eventually Moran began to stir; his vision was blurry and out of focus, he tried to blink things into clarity. He still felt heavy from the drugs and the blow to his head but he quickly realized what was going on, "I should have swept for bugs, shouldn't I have?" Moran grimaced at the volume of his own voice, his head really hurt.

Moriarty smiled wide, "Oh! Yes, yes you should have! I'm _so_ glad you _finally_ remembered, even if it **is** too late."

Moran managed a nod and frowned upon seeing his sister lying on the ground with her hands tied behind her back. This was going to get _very _ugly _very_ fast. He looked at Isabella who rested silently in Moriarty's arms. He hoped she would be able to sleep through this, he hoped Moriarty wouldn't hurt her; maybe Isabella could go off and get adopted by some nice couple and never be bothered ever again. Moran found the notion unlikely, but he savored the slight hope that the thought brought.

"First thing's first; Moran, we _really should_ deal with you first, don't you think?" Moriarty handed Isabella to one of his other men that stood nearby, "You've been _quite_ naughty. So, as punishment I'm taking one of your things away." Moriarty spoke as a manic parent would to a misbehaving child, a disturbing sight. Moran was scowling now, his body language ready to attack. Moriarty looked over to Agatha who still lied on the ground. "Say goodbye to your brother, darling." Agatha's face showed no emotion as Moriarty raised the gun, aiming it at her head.

"Wait, let me do it. If she's going to get killed, I should do it; I got her into this." Moran spoke as he struggled to stand.

Moriarty smiled, "I didn't know you were a fan of 'Old yeller'."

Moran rolled his eyes as he grabbed the gun that Moriarty handed to him; he checked the chamber for a round, there was none. "How am I supposed to shoot her with an unloaded gun?"

Moriarty smiled, "just to test to see if you're paying attention; never know, you might have tried to shoot me."

Moriarty handed Moran a single bullet which he promptly loaded into the chamber. He cocked the hammer back and very quickly aimed and fired it in the direction of Moriarty. There was no bang, there was no shot; nothing left the barrel of the gun. Moriarty rolled his eyes, "I took the powder out of that." He stepped forward and took the useless gun from Moran's baffled hands, pulling out one of his own and firing it at Agatha; the shot was so quiet it felt like it should have had no effect, but her body became limp and settled to the ground proving the devastation of the quiet projectile.

John and Moriarty stared at Agatha for a few moments; trying to comprehend how she could be so lifeless now; trying to come to terms with her death. John felt nauseated and Moran grew angry, "You filthy basta-"

Isabella had awoken from Moran's shouting and had begun to cry, the man holding her gently swayed her in his arms as he tried to sooth her as one of Moriarty's men stepped forward and hit Moran over the head with the handle of his gun. Moran fell to his knees; he was disoriented and was having a difficult time remaining conscious. The man had managed to hit him in the exact spot where he was hit earlier. Sherlock remained quiet as he tried to figure out ahead of time what was going to happen and what to do about it.

Moriarty made a thoughtful expression as he walked closer to Moran, inspecting his head injury. "You're lucky you didn't mark his pretty face." He said as he scowled at the man who had hit Moran. Moriarty walked around so he was behind Moran so he could place his hands on his kneeling prisoner's shoulders. "Now, as for _you two_," Moriarty directed his attention to John and Sherlock, "I have a… sort of choice for you to make, Sherlock." Moriarty smiled; Sherlock did his best to keep his face impassive but some emotion broke through. John looked like he was having difficulty processing all the information he was receiving.

Moriarty allowed the silence to fill the air for a few more moments; eventually Sherlock got tired of waiting, rolled his eyes and spoke up, "What is this choice I have to make?" Sherlock already knew, but he didn't want to face it any sooner than he absolutely _had_ to. He turned to face John, he wanted to look at John for as long as he could; emotion swelled in his stomach and he felt sick.

"You already know." Moriarty's voice was disturbingly soft.

"Indulge me." Sherlock's voice was cold.

Moriarty rolled his eyes, "Very well, Sherlock, you or Watson; who dies and who lives? Survivor gets to raise _darling_ Isabella without me interfering." Moriarty smiled at the shock that manifested on John's face, and at the broken expression on Sherlock's. Sherlock returned his gaze to John whose face silently pleaded with him to come up with something, anything to find another way.

Everyone already knew who Sherlock would choose to live; there was no real need for Sherlock to answer. John shook his head. "There's no other option? Nothing else I could do to change your mind?" Sherlock nearly pleaded, his voice remained cold.

Moriarty shook his head, "Not this time."

Sherlock kept his eyes on John; he had so many regrets; perhaps if he had asked Mycroft for help- as much as he hated the thought- or had actually followed through with Lestrade, getting his help. Sherlock shook his head, it was too late now; he internally scolded himself for being such a fool. With tears in his eyes he finally returned his attention to Moriarty, "Very well, I choose-" Sherlock swallowed hard, "I choose to die, let John live."

Moriarty nodded, "I did promise you a fall."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and attempted to keep his face calm and indifferent; tried to ignore the restless beating of his heart- _damned thing._ John was shaking his head, "No, no. Sherlock, you can't! You can't." John's voice was breaking; he stood military straight clenching his fists at his sides. He wanted to run to Sherlock, but he felt frozen where he stood. Sherlock slowly made his way to the ledge of the building.

Moriarty stood _just_ behind him, leaning over his shoulder, "No big brother Mycroft to save you this time." Moriarty grinned.

"No, indeed." Sherlock grabbed Moriarty and leaned him over the edge just like he had done on the day of the fall, "And if you die, do you really think that your men would care what happens to John and me?"

"Just because I don't have Moran anymore doesn't mean I don't have anyone." Moriarty glanced to Lester who stood several feet away, "You can drop me, but that doesn't mean my plans will drop." Sherlock scowled and looked back to the ginger man currently watching them with his weapon aimed at John. "Drop me, and he dies."

Sherlock hesitated, pondering; he couldn't stand the thought of John dying and to think of Moriarty being a free man repulsed him.

Moriarty interrupted his thoughts in a bored voice, "Oh please, you're not going to drop me. We all know when it comes down to it you're ordinary, on the side of the angels. I thought maybe Moran would have a good influence on you, but in the end he disappointed as well."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, _really? Well perhaps Moran had more of an effect than everyone had thought._ He leaned forward until he _and_ Moriarty were falling off the building; John cried out and fell to his knees.

Lester watched his employer go over the edge then furrowed his brow pensively. The rest of Moriarty's men looked to him for further instruction. "He just said that Sherlock or John had to die, as far as I'm concerned we're done here."

The blond man spoke up and gestured to a nearly unconscious Moran, "What about him?"

Lester fired a bullet in Moran's head, "He's more trouble than he's worth." Lester paused then turned to the man holding Isabella, "Please give Dr. Watson his daughter back."

The man nodded and handed John Isabella. John's eyes were swelling with tears, he couldn't speak, and he couldn't move other than to accept Isabella into his arms. Lester looked at John who helplessly held his little girl and he felt pity, "Do you need us to call someone?"

John almost laughed; _because obviously you __**care**__ so much,_ "No. No, don't worry about it." John waited until every living person had left the roof before he descended and made his way to the sidewalk where Sherlock and Moriarty carelessly laid, only stopping to leave Isabella inside and tell her not to come out until he comes to get her. They seemed so insignificant there, so motionless. It didn't seem right. John crouched next to Sherlock's body; he took his pulse at multiple sources. Sherlock was dead, he didn't cheat it. John cried out. He went back inside to phone the police, when Lestrade arrived he was very delicate; even Sally Donovan didn't make any snide remarks. Everyone who was there worked solemnly and quietly, they had always liked John and no one liked seeing him like this.

Lestrade allowed John to go before he would have a normal witness; John wasn't sure where he should go. He didn't know if he could handle 221B right now, so he went to Harry's unannounced. John limped up to her door and knocked loudly, hopefully she was still sober.

Harry took one look at her brother, his posture and tense expression gave her an idea and when the name "Sherlock" was uttered in a broken voice, she knew.

* * *

A/N: I just realized in the original chapter I didn't specify that John was disarmed, sorry. My bad, that's kind of important. Also, please review. I would like to know what you thought of the characters, the writing; did you find any flaws, any continuity errors? Let me know please. :) thanks.


	28. ALT: Chapters 24-26 (end)

A/N: The rest of the chapters are really short because I didn't feel like writing them up full length. Sorry. Enjoy!

* * *

**ALT:** Chapter 24: Cracks in the Foundation

John hadn't gone in to work; he hadn't really bothered doing much. Harry didn't bother him much, she just let him sit around and mourn. John still managed to play with Isabella and make her feel loved while she was home from daycare. He never wanted his little girl to feel like she wasn't loved. Harry would take Isabella to daycare on her way to work and she'd bring home takeaway for dinner.

Harry even managed to keep her mouth shut when she noticed John drinking in the mornings. It wasn't until she noticed that he was _drunk_ in the mornings that she said anything.

"How dare you, you're drunk!"

"What of it? What do you care?"

"One, it's nine in the morning, NINE; and two, I'm a recovering alcoholic. Did you not take _**one**_ second to consider how that might be for me? Don't you think you're risking my sobriety? What about Isabella? Damn it John! What the hell?"

John felt ashamed, he looked down into his nearly empty glass and put it down.

* * *

**ALT:** Chapter 25: Breaking Down

John awoke to see Sherlock's face on the pillow next to him, "Sherlock?" he choked out as his eyes filled with tears.

Sherlock simply nodded and smiled one of the rare smiles that only John ever saw. John reached to Sherlock, he felt solid and warm; "Sherlock? How are you here right now? What the hell?" John had a hard time; he was torn between hitting the genius or holding him close and crying. Sherlock simply hushed him and wrapped his arms around John.

John packed his and Isabella's things and returned to 221B with Sherlock. Harry said good bye and seemed happy, "I'm glad to see you're doing better."

John nodded.

"Limp's gone, and going back to 221B. Good for you." She smiled wide at him.

John nodded again, "Yes; well, it's what Sherlock and I want. I think Isabella will be happier there, it's her home." John managed to smile but Harry just looked like she was slightly confused and concerned.

The second day back at 221B with Sherlock things seemed to be going well; Isabella seemed happy and Sherlock was as dashing as ever. John was happier than he thought he'd ever be again when Mycroft came to visit. As John saw the older Holmes brother walking up the stairs the younger ran into his bedroom and closed the door sharply.

"Back in 221B, I see." Mycroft greeted.

"Yes, well-"

"Limp's gone too."

"Yes." John felt uncomfortable, like Mycroft was interrogating him; which for all John knew he might be. "Can't say I expected to see you here anytime soon."

Mycroft nodded, "Caring isn't an advantage, Doctor Watson. I try not to make such things habit."

"You do care though. If you didn't you wouldn't be here right now." A heavy silence filled the room, John felt the need to continue, "Caring is an advantage, Mycroft. It can be the most painful thing to do at times, but without it we'd miss out on…" John found his voice was catching in his throat and he stood a little straighter as he finished his sentence, "on so much. So never try to tell me that caring's not an advantage."

Mycroft nodded, John thought he almost looked sad. "You know Sherlock isn't real, don't you? He's dead."

John's eyes were full of tears now; he felt like he was going to throw up, "But I don't want him to be."

Mycroft looked at John for a few moments before he left the flat in silence. Sherlock came out right after Mycroft had left then tried to make a joke of what his brother had said. John didn't find it funny.

* * *

**ALT:** Chapter 26: The Secret Room

Mycroft kept an eye on John Watson; he tried not to intervene but when John's behavior became more erratic and his hallucinations increased Mycroft couldn't hold back any longer. He had his men plant plans of a trip in Sherlock and John's names around 221B. John saw them and thought that Sherlock had been planning a vacation trip for them, he thanked his imaginary Sherlock and began packing their things.

John would later arrive at a lovely little home thinking he was with Sherlock. He had left Isabella with Harry for what was supposed to be a week. John wouldn't figure out that it was actually _Mycroft's_ home and that it had a sort of psychiatric wing in it that no one was supposed to know about it. It's where Sherlock had stayed for a short period of his rehab when he was suffering from crippling psychological effects of his drug habit. There was even a padded white room from when Sherlock would get violent if John should need it.

John never noticed these things, he simply lived out his life thinking he was happy with Sherlock.

Mycroft had to explain to Harry what was happening and that she would be gaining full custody of Isabella. Harry cried. Mycroft would visit them once a week to tell Harry how her brother was doing and to see how Isabella was doing.

Mycroft would call Isabella Billy the Brave when he visited and gave her a few pirate toys.

**THE (alternate) END**

* * *

A/N: So there you go. PLEASE review, and thanks for sticking with me this far :) I may or may not write a sequel for the original ending, if I do it won't be for a while.


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